Stark Raving Mad
by Ellen Fitzwilliam Brandybuck
Summary: AU:Accused of being an oathbreaker by none other than Lord Frey's daughter,Robb must decide now for the future of his kingdom and not his heart. In time he hoped they could grow closer but forces in the dark world around them threaten such hope. Dually told from the perspective of king and future queen, this is the story of The Young Wolf and his unwanted yet necessary wife.
1. How They Met

_I don't own the GoT characters, only my OC's. This story will be in the style of a wonderful film called "Flipped." The movie featured the same event but was told from the boy's perspective and then from the girl's perspective; in a similar fashion, this story will feature the same event but from different perspectives, Robb's and the OC's. It will not be a day-by-day retelling of things but mere instances in what leads them to marriage and thereafter. If you have a particular instance you'd like to see both perspectives of then please feel free to tell me and I'd be happy to write it—taking requests if you will. ;) Cheers! Oh, I will also be taking some liberties with the GoT timeline, especially since *GASP* I'm not going to kill off Robb._

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><p><span>How They Met: Robb<span>

"Riders your majesty, at least a dozen." At the sound of Greatjon's voice Robb looked up from the map of the Riverlands he'd been studying. "From the banners it looks to be the Freys."

Robb spared a glance towards his mother before he straightened to his full height and joined Greatjon by the open tent flap. He blinked against the noontime sun and shaded his eyes in a similar fashion to Greatjon before he could see the riders the man spoke of. He didn't have to see her to know that the knuckles on his mother's hands had whitened at Greatjon's announcement. She knew as well as he that this could bode well for them, or quickly turn ill.

Their recent victories against the Lannisters had allowed them the time and relative peace to focus on the arrangement between himself and Walder Frey. However, he'd only just informed his mother two days before of his intention to marry Talisa and break with Frey. He was still reaping the silent treatment from her as a result of that—it seemed that being king didn't stop his mother from treating her like a child from time to time, or from acting like one herself.

No others, aside from himself, Talisa, and his mother knew of his intentions, though according to his mother it was quite obvious to his bannermen that something had changed about his intentions towards the Frey's. She'd warned him of the impulsiveness of this decision, of the consequences that could reach far beyond just themselves and had asked if he really wanted to throw it all away for the warmth and comfort of a woman.

In hindsight, he'd perhaps overstepped his bounds as her son when he'd told her that she'd not understand his situation, since the love she'd had for his father had developed over time. He remembered the hardened, near pained, look on her face as a result of that comment and had for a moment regretted saying it; but then again she'd more than once overstepped her bounds as his subject and abused her position as his mother. That would have to change if he was to command the respect of all the houses of the north as their true king.

"I've a bad feeling about this." Greatjon murmured by his side.

Robb dropped his hand from shading his eyes and nodded his agreement. To have representatives of the Frey's arrive now, so soon after his private announcement to his mother, and his agreement with Talisa, seemed less than fortuitous. They were still a few days ride away from the Twins and he'd had every intention of bringing his Uncle Tully with him to renegotiate with Frey. There were ways, he'd argued with his mother, to still have the alliance and meet the terms set by Frey, if not by his marriage than by one from his household. It seemed that he would not have the opportunity to have that particular discussion now.

He watched in silence as the riders slowed their pace as they came to the edge of the camp. They dismounted and, after inspection and introductions, were led towards his tent. Talisa was busy tending the wounded on the opposite side of camp, so he didn't worry about an untimely arrival on her part. After that night together, the point of no return in many cases, it had been difficult to keep his hands and mind off her. Hence the reason for her absence now; he intended to follow the old ways and maintain abstinence from her for at least two days before their union. She deserved no less than that.

Greatjon crossed his arms over his chest as the Freys drew closer and Robb mimicked his stance when he noticed that the Freys were clad in battle gear. They had stated earlier that they would await the union between himself and one of Walder's daughters before they announced their loyalty to one side or the other in this war. To see this group approach him now, in such a fashion, had him looking over his shoulder to his mother and shaking his head in warning. She immediately stood and moved to the other side of the tent, her body tense and at the ready, while he widened his stance to face the newcomers head-on.

Once they were within speaking distance, Robb's men had them stop and he watched with some curiosity as the majority of the newcomers voluntarily removed their helmets and stiffly bowed their heads in respect. It seemed that the leader of the group was less inclined to do so and instead stood with a hand on the hilt of his sword and the other hand hovering over the sheath of his dagger.

"You face the King of the North, Frey-man," Greatjon growled at the leader of the group, "you'd best show some respect." The large bannerman shifted his weight as if he was about to move forward but Robb raised his own hand to stay him. He was curious as to why this man before him would be so bold.

"The King of the North faces a member of his future family." The voice they heard from inside the helmet was undoubtedly female and they all paused with equal confusion as the woman's hands moved from sword hilt and side towards helmet; then, with swift movements, the helmet was removed. The woman shook her head of shoulder length brown hair before flicking her head to the side to get it out of her face, revealing decidedly feminine features, not altogether unpleasant to look at but far from great beauty. If she was indeed a member of the Frey family it was to her credit that she took after the non-Frey side in looks. He watched as she placed the helmet under her arm, much in the same fashion as a soldier would do, and bowed her head ever so slightly in his direction. "My lord King Robb please allow me to introduce myself. I am Lady Sascha Royce, eldest daughter to Lord Walder Frey. I am here to accompany you to my father at the Twins."

He was struck dumb just long enough for the woman to raise an eyebrow at him in an expression not unlike amusement. At this, Robb shook himself into action; he bowed his head in return and gestured for the Lady to enter his tent. They had much to discuss before they were to go anywhere and the discussion would be best done within the tent, away from prying eyes and spying ears.

She signaled her men to stay where they were before she preceded him inside. He in turn gave Greatjon a look and without having to say anything the man cleared out and took the rest of Robb's counsel with him. When Robb turned to move back inside the tent he nearly walked into Lady Royce's back. She was as tall as he and without her armor he wagered that she'd have a similar build to his own. With the armor he couldn't tell if she'd have any semblance of femininity to her body or not but he didn't bother with wondering.

She noticed his sudden proximity and immediately stepped to the side so he could come in further, the tent flap falling closed behind him. He looked over to see his mother moving forward.

"Lady Royce, my mother Lady Catelyn Stark." Lady Royce again bowed her head in an almost masculine way while his mother shifted her weight in a polite curtsy. "Please, have a seat Lady Royce. You must be tired after your ride." Her movements were stiff but eventually Lady Royce sat on the edge of the chair he indicated while his mother readied three glasses of water for them. "Your father need not have sent you to escort us, we are put a few days journey from the Twins."

Lady Royce waited until after his mother gave her the cup of water before she spoke. "Oh, but he most certainly would have felt the need to do so, after he heard the troubling reports sent his way." Robb saw, out of the corner of his eye, his mother's knuckles going white again as she gripped her glass harder. Lady Royce, however, kept her voice calm and even, and her eyes remained on the contents of her cup as she continued. "Reports of a possible threat to the marital alliance between our houses." Her eyes slowly traveled up from her cup to meet his own and he noticed for the first time that they were the color of dying embers. Instead of the warmth of an ember, however, he perceived calculated coldness, a deep discerning capacity he'd not often seen within the female sex. "You see my father is not a very trusting man, often given to fits of paranoia, and he always acts with extreme caution. I am being forthright with you, lord king, with the hope that you may repay my honesty with some of your own."

"I do not know of what you speak." She'd tipped her head down slightly, her eyes narrowing in on his soul it felt, by the time she finished. Robb turned his back on her and moved to the far end of the table before he took his own seat, setting his glass on the table. He felt that as much space between them as possible would aid him against her otherworldly eyes. His mother also sat, though on a chair at the edge of the tent, almost in the shadows. "What was in these reports that were so troubling, and that lay such accusations upon me? I would know of their origin."

Lady Royce eyed him for a moment, her eyes flicking around as they studied his face, before she took a sip of water and placed her own cup on the table as well. "You must know that you are on Frey lands and that the people you pass, the people who have extended their hospitality to your men and yourself, have been Frey as well. Anything and everything that they have seen has been reported back to my father ever since you first laid foot in this area." When Robb frowned and opened his mouth to speak Lady Royce continued, "I mentioned before that my father is overly cautious, far from trusting, and often paranoid. He has these reports from all who pass through his lands; you have merely curtailed further attention from my father given your present quest."

Robb held himself back from throwing a few choice words between them, all aimed at her father, and instead asked, "Well, I ask again, what was in these reports that would be so troubling that the Lord Frey would see fit to send his daughter, clad in battle armor, to meet his ally beyond the walls of his keep?"

"He did not send me, lord king, I came on my own." Robb exchanged a look with his mother before he returned his attention to the strange woman before him. "Those men are not my father's, they are my own, left to me from my late husband, Ser Robar Royce. We rode under the Frey banners with the understanding that you would welcome us as allies."

Robb laid a hand on the hilt of his sword as he narrowed his gaze on her, "What are your intentions then, milady, if you have not been sent by your father?"

"My intentions, majesty, are the same as I stated before your tent, to escort you to my father. Nothing more and nothing less. I, unlike some I have become acquainted with, do not make false statements or mislead with my intentions." The intended barb struck but he was unable to gage the intensity of it as Lady Royce looked over to his mother to break the moment and then back to him; when she did not seem to see what it was she was looking for in their faces she sighed and leaned forward, resting her weight on an elbow perched on the table. "My father did not receive the reports I spoke of, I did. I have recently returned to my father's household, after mourning my husband's passing, and I intercepted the reports before they could be relayed to him. After reading these reports I saw wisdom in riding out to meet you before my father could see them himself. I was only able to delay them until my successful return."

There was a tense silence during which they could all hear the noises of the camp outside: horses, men, cattle, all moving about unaware of the conversation occurring now. Robb was suddenly thankful that he had not seen Talisa all day, or the day before; it was making this conversation easier in a sense. His head was clear of the intense desire he often felt for her, and he needed clarity in this moment, with this woman.

"Successful." He repeated the word to her and noticed how the corner of her mouth twitched in an almost frown. Robb rested both his hands on the table and laced his fingers together as he too leaned forward, "What would make your return successful?"

Lady Royce mimicked his movements and also laced her fingers together, her gaze never wavering, "You and your forces returning with me. Unless this happens, in two days time, I cannot stop the contents of the reports from reaching my father's ears."

"I ask again, milady, what was in these reports?" He would not confirm or deny the accusation that there was a threat to the alliance, though both he and his mother knew this to be true. He was most curious as to what it was she'd heard that would prompt her to rush to his camp, with the intention of near dragging him back to meet her father like an unruly subject.

Lady Royce again looked at his mother first before she leveled his gaze back upon him, "Let us speak plainly."

"I thought we had been." He interjected.

She frowned, though he thought he saw a tugging at her lips as if she fought a smile. "Well then I'll hedge no longer. Have you or have you not taken Talisa Maegyr into your tent?"

Robb surged to his feet, "How dare you ask such questions. You have no right-"

"I have every right." Lady Royce also stood and faced down his ire with a hint of her own. "You swore an oath to my father to forge a marital alliance between your house and his. You then used Frey bridges and Frey provisions to aid you in your war against the Lannisters. If the reports are true, now that victory appears to be yours for the taking, you have negated on your oath and seek to renegotiate in order to free yourself to wed another." Robb felt as if his legs had been kicked out from beneath him. How was it that this woman knew so much of what had occurred, and so recently too? Had he truly been so obvious with his intentions, as his mother had warned he had? "Can you deny these things, lord king?"

"What you have accused King Robb of just now, were what were in the reports?" His mother asked when he did not immediately answer and he watched Lady Royce nod her head in confirmation. "And you said your father has not seen them yet?"

"No, Lady Stark, he has not. However they will be conveyed to him should I not return with King Robb himself by my side, the alliance still standing between the Starks and Freys." She turned her gaze away from Robb and instead focused on his mother. "I do not think I need to warn you that my father is not above repaying betrayal with betrayal. Anyone less than King Robb himself as a future son-in-law will be seen as a betrayal and my father will repay in kind."

"Are you threatening us?" Robb growled out his question, his hand again drifting to the hilt of his sword.

He saw Lady Royce also drop her hand to her sword-hilt and he suddenly wondered if she knew how to use it or if it were merely for decoration. "I am conveying facts, King Robb. I felt you should know these things before you made a decision you could not reverse."

"Why," his mother stepped closer, her hands clasped tight in front of her body, "why are you telling us this?"

Lady Royce sighed and he saw a darkness he'd not perceived before creep into her eyes as she spoke again, "I know the nature of my father and I know the reputation of my family. I have not been away so long to have forgotten these things. I also know what my father is capable of if he feels himself betrayed." She moved her hand away from her sword and rubbed at her wrist before she looked up and gave him her full attention. "You have fought battles and won, and indeed the war could be over soon. So many have died already but thus far the killing has remained, for the most part, on the battlefield. Should you not follow through with your oath, I can guarantee you this: the killing will no longer be on the battlefields alone."

Robb stared at her a moment longer, looking for any signs of duplicity, but all he found was sincerity, an odd trait to be found in an offspring of Walder Frey. Perhaps her marriage into the Royce household had cured her of any conniving Frey tendencies. He vaguely knew of Ser Robar Royce, bannerman to the late Renly Baratheon, killed at the hands of Brienne of Tarth. The Royce family was known to be honorable and trustworthy and perhaps it was because of her association with them, if even by marriage, that Robb found himself inclined to believe her story, despite his initial dislike of the woman herself.

"I would ask to speak to my mother alone now, Lady Royce. My men will see to it that you and yours are looked after until we can meet again."

She nodded and turned to leave. She paused at the entrance, however, and spoke over her shoulder, "If it is true, about the other woman, then know that Walder Frey cares not if his future son-in-law has mistresses a plenty. He merely wants a marriage alliance to secure his power and cares not for the vows of fidelity said between spouses." With that said she left Robb with his mother, and their fears confirmed.

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><p><span>How They Met: Sascha<span>

"You're certain we should follow through with this, milady?" Her captain Wolfred asked, his hands tightening on the reins of his horse to keep the excited creature from breaking into a trot.

Before answering, Sascha eyed the camp on the plains before her and her men. It was sprawling to be certain, a testament to the strength of Stark's forces, and also evidence to the loyalty his people lavished upon him. They were well over a week's ride away from their homes, and should things suddenly turn dark they would be cut off completely and left to die. This did not seem to deter their enthusiasm for victory though.

The numbers they'd faced down so far had been stacked heavily against them, and the resources they had access to were significantly less than what the Lannisters had, and yet they'd persevered. They'd taken Jamie Lannister himself captive after the Battle of the Whispering Wood, and later continued their victories with the Battle of Oxcross and also the Battle of the Yellow Fork. Her father claimed it was a fool's was, but she disagreed. The Starks were winning because they had more to fight for than gold and glory like the Lannisters; they were fighting for justice after the brutal murder of Lord Eddard Stark and the hostage taking of his daughters.

Her father was too far removed from Kingslanding to fully understand these things, at least not as she did. He persisted upon seeing the world as he wanted, with only the Freys stability in mind. He cared not for justice for others, only the coffers of his own keep. She, however, had seen what a lack of justice could do to men, seen far too close to ever forget, and naïve though it may be to still believe in good triumphing over evil, she felt it in her bones that the Starks could, and should, win out in this war. If they did not then let the white walkers return and bring with them a brutal winter over the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros.

"Well, milady, do we proceed as you indicated or do we turn back?" Wolfred asked again, his horse stomping at the ground as the other horses had begun to do, all accurately perceiving the nervousness of their riders.

She nodded and reached up to pull down the visor of her helmet, "We proceed as planned." She raised her arm and lowered it, nudging her horse into a canter with her men following suit.

She knew they'd be spotted within seconds of moving out from the wooded area they'd paused in and indeed, even from their distance, she saw the guards at the edge of the camping moving into closer quarters, in case this was an attack. Sascha had told her men to wear battle gear in case they met with any Lannister stragglers, and also she wanted the Starks to know that they were serious with what they were about to say—or at least she wanted them to take her seriously. As a woman, it was entirely possible, and probable, that they would toss aside her petition/demand as fanciful and go on with their assumed decision, at least as the reports stated, as disastrous as it'd be.

As they rode closer, Sascha reflected back on what had been inside the reports and began to prepare her line of argument. She'd never met Robb Stark personally, and had only barely glimpsed Lord Stark whilst he'd been alive at Kingslanding, but the Starks were renowned for their stubbornness and argumentative natures. If there was no clear-cut evidence then the notions put to them were typically set aside, or at least that is what her husband had told her of the Starks after it'd been announced that Eddard Stark would be the hand of the king.

Sascha did not mourn her husband as woman in love might have. But she also bore no ill will towards the man either; he'd been loyal to his father and had married her as he'd been instructed to, just as she'd married him as she'd been ordered—and as she'd jumped at the chance for freedom from her father. It had not been his fault that he was unable to perform a husband's duties, the results of a tourney injury but known only to herself and her husband. It had also not been his fault that he lacked his own convictions and instead held those of his father, or Renly Baratheon's, or any man's who deemed himself stronger than Robar himself. He'd had a kind heart towards her though and had treated her with respect; he'd encouraged her once secret education and had relished their lively debates over dinner.

The irony that he'd died at the hands of another woman was not lost to Sascha, who had been accused of sucking the life out of Robar with her sharp mind and lack of wifely piety. She did not blame Brienne of Tarth for killing him, it had been a fair fight and she had clearly been the better fighter. Robar would've preferred to have died that way in any case, spared a lifetime of questions after his virility and capabilities as a man.

That Lord Royce had not clearly indicated her welcome or unwelcome at their castle after Robar's death had allowed her the choice of either remaining with him as a widow or returning to her father with the intention of remarrying. She had not relished the idea of wandering Royce's keep like a forgotten wraith any more than she'd liked the idea of living under the same oppressive roof as her father, but she had her sisters to think of and so had decided to return. It was good that she had or else this meeting, and possible avoidance of disaster, would never have happened.

They slowed their horses as they drew closer to the edge of the camp. Again she reviewed the facts as indicated in the reports: multiple sightings of close meetings between the king and another woman, understood to be a highborn woman of the name Talisa Maegyr, with some evidence that the king was shifting marital alliances from the Freys to Talisa Maegyr; a purposeful delay in returning to the Twins and assumed contact between the king and his Tully kin, amongst whom was an unmarried uncle. This led Sascha to believe that the agreement between her father and King Robb was threatened and she feared what it might do to the king's cause, and his people, should this occur.

Wolfred made the introductions to the guards at the edge of camp, understanding that she would remain silent until they were before the King of the North. She led the way through the camp, however, all the while reflecting back on the many times she'd witnessed her father's brutal retaliation, to kin and enemy alike, whenever he'd been betrayed. She could not stand idly by and allow this to happen; if King Robb did betray her father then yes he did deserve to reap the consequences of his actions, but she knew her father would overstep what would be considered rightful repayment of such actions and an entire kingdom could suffer the consequences.

She looked up the slight incline they'd begun to climb up and saw the king's tent. Just outside it stood a giant of a man, powerful arms crossed over his chest. He was too old to be the king, and too large. She knew the king to be perhaps five years her junior and from the reports she'd had he should be of amber colored hair and of her stature. One of the guards blocking her view moved and indeed there the king stood, his arms also crossed over his chest, his legs slightly wider than his shoulders—as if to make himself look more formidable.

They stopped a few paces away and her men immediately began to take off their helmets. Sascha knew she should as well and yet, she wondered, if it would not be more in her favor to have the king or his men request or demand her to do so first. Let them think her an audacious man only to find out she was instead a tenacious woman. She had not the capacity for lying and cheating that many of her bastard brothers had but she had inherited a good nature for scheming and that was about to useful, or at least she felt it would.

"You face the King of the North, Frey-man," The giant man growled at her, almost startling her with his aggressive tone, "you'd best show some respect." When she didn't immediately move in response he uncrossed his arms and shifted his weight as if he were going to forcibly remove her helmet for her but then the man beside him, the king himself, held up his hand to stop him.

She studied his features, unable to deny the handsomeness of his looks, before she steadied her mind and replied in a loud voice, "The King of the North faces a member of his future family."

Before she reached for her helmet she saw a look of shock cross the king's features and smiled to herself at the sight of it. So far things were in her favor. She reached up and unceremoniously removed her helmet, shaking her unruly hair out of her face. She'd followed House Royce traditions and had cut her hair as a sign of mourning after Robar's death and now it was at a most awkward length, always getting in her way and never cooperating. She tucked her helmet under her arm and gave the king as polite a nod as she knew, previously uncertain if she should bow or attempt a curtsy.

"My lord King Robb," the king's face was still registered in a state of shock and so Sascha further took advantage of this to introduce herself, "please allow me to introduce myself. I am Lady Sascha Royce, eldest daughter to Lord Walder Frey." At her father's name she thought she detected a hint of surprise in the giant man's face out of the corner of her eye but she kept her eyes steadfast on the king's face. "I am here to accompany you to my father at the Twins."

The king remained still and unmoving, his face unchanged from when she'd first removed her helmet. Sascha found her shock tactic pleasantly reassuring and so allowed her slight amusement on the king's behalf to show on her face when she raised an eyebrow at his lack of response. This must've prompted a change as within seconds of her doing this he bowed his head and moved to the side, indicating that she should enter his tent.

Sascha turned and gave Wolfred a look, not having to say anything to have him understand that in no instance were he or the others to come into the tent unless she called for them. They'd discussed the plan at length prior to coming: she'd talk to the king, he'd most likely want some time to decide, then they'd either escort the king and his men back home or they'd…well they'd never come up with a second plan. Wolfred was in favor of kidnapping and/or killing the king as retribution but he'd always been a bit more bloodthirsty than Sascha.

With this understanding between them, Sascha turned back towards the king and moved past him into the tent. She stopped just inside the entrance and allowed her eyes to adjust the sudden shadows. It was noontime outside and the sun was stronger than normal for this time of the year. The tent was well equipped for a king's war tent: table with map laid out on it, a bed in the far side, numerous chairs and benches. Near the bed on the far side of the tent Sascha saw a woman, undoubtedly his mother from the similarity in looks.

Before she could give a greeting she felt a presence come close behind her and realized, suddenly, that she'd yet to move from the entrance. She glanced over her should to see that it was the king, staring at her as if she'd taken leave of her senses. She fought a blushed and ducked her head to hide it as she stepped to the side so he could come in further, the tent flap falling closed behind him. They were sealed in, then, and she would not leave until all had been said and a decision made.

"Lady Royce," he had a melodic voice, not too thick with the northern accent but thick enough to make it exotic to her ears, "my mother Lady Catelyn Stark." Sascha bowed her head to the woman, not sure if she was supposed to curtsy whilst in armor or not, while his mother shifted her weight in a polite curtsy in return. "Please, have a seat Lady Royce. You must be tired after your ride." She lacked usual female grace even out of armor but the added weight of the metal made her movements even more sluggish. Eventually she made it to the chair he'd indicated while his mother readied three glasses of water for them. "Your father need not have sent you to escort us, we are put a few days journey from the Twins."

Sascha waited until after Lady Stark gave her the water before she replied. "Oh, but he most certainly would have felt the need to do so, after he heard the troubling reports sent his way." She did not give into the desire to study mother and son as she spoke and instead kept her voice calm and even, her eyes on the contents of her cup as she continued. "Reports of a possible threat to the marital alliance between our houses." As if to punctuate this statement she allowed her eyes to slowly move from the swirling contents of her cup to meet the king's and she was struck by the intensity of their color; steely blue, cold as the man himself appeared to be. "You see my father is not a very trusting man, often given to fits of paranoia, and he always acts with extreme caution." After glancing at Lady Stark and detecting a hint of apprehension she quickly added, "I am being forthright with you, lord king, with the hope that you may repay my honesty with some of your own."

His eyes had widened for a hair of a second when she'd first dropped a hint of accusation at his feet but once she'd finished his eyes and stance had returned to a dismissive nature. "I do not know of what you speak." This said he turned his back on her and moved to the far end of the table before he took his own seat, setting his glass on the table. It was as if he wanted to put as much distance between them as he could; perhaps out of guilt or perhaps because he found her presence so offensive. "What was in these reports that were so troubling, and that lay such accusations upon me? I would know of their origin."

She studied him for a moment, her eyes flicking around as they studied his face, before she took a sip of water and placed her own cup on the table as well. There was no use in hedging around the matter. She had to plunge into the icy waters now that she was here.

"You must know that you are on Frey lands and that the people you pass, the people who have extended their hospitality to your men and yourself, have been Frey as well. Anything and everything that they have seen has been reported back to my father ever since you first laid foot in this area." He opened his mouth as if to argue and so she hurried on before he could, "I mentioned before that my father is overly cautious, far from trusting, and often paranoid. He has these reports from all who pass through his lands; you have merely curtailed further attention from my father given your present quest."

His jaw tightened in response, as if he were holding in what he would rather say and instead replied with a curt, "Well, I ask again, what was in these reports that would be so troubling that the Lord Frey would see fit to send his daughter, clad in battle armor, to meet his ally beyond the walls of his keep?"

She detected hints of incredulity and perhaps mockery in his voice, as if he found her very presence to be a jest. When she looked at his mother, however, she saw no such notions in her eyes or gaze. The woman instead appeared to be on the edge of a precipice, holding her breath to see if she were about to fall or not. Sascha knew she would be the one to push the woman over the edge, or save her from it, depending upon how the king responded to her next words.

"He did not send me, lord king, I came on my own." She watched as he exchanged a look with Lady Stark before he returned his attention to her. "Those men are not my father's, they are my own, left to me from my late husband, Ser Robar Royce." This was all true. Lord Royce had given these men, Robar's closest soldiers, the option of remaining with him or remaining with her. A strange arrangement, as the rest of the household had whispered, but they'd chosen her and that had been the end of it. "We rode under the Frey banners with the understanding that you would welcome us as allies."

The king shifted in his chair and one of his hands disappeared beneath the table in response to her statement, "What are your intentions then, milady, if you have not been sent by your father?" His voice held a dangerous quality to it and she felt the hairs on her arms raise at the sound.

"My intentions, majesty, are the same as I stated before your tent, to escort you to my father. Nothing more and nothing less. I, unlike some I have become acquainted with, do not make false statements or mislead with my intentions." The intended barb struck but she was unable to gage if he caught it, her eyes darting towards Lady Stark for a moment, looking for any recognition of her intention. She saw a flash of guilt upon the woman's face but when she looked back to the king she saw only coldness and no remorse. Sascha sighed and leaned forward, resting her weight on an elbow braced against the table. "My father did not receive the reports I spoke of, I did. I have recently returned to my father's household, after mourning my husband's passing, and I intercepted the reports before they could be relayed to him. After reading these reports I saw wisdom in riding out to meet you before my father could see them himself. I was only able to delay them until my successful return."

"Successful." The king rested both his hands on the table and laced his fingers together as he too leaned forward, "What would make your return successful?"

She mimicked his movements, even though she knew it would most likely goad him, and also laced her fingers together, her gaze never wavering. "You and your forces returning with me. Unless this happens, in two days time, I cannot stop the contents of the reports from reaching my father's ears."

If it were at all possible for his eyes to narrow more, his voice to grow more dangerous, or his face to harden more, it did. "I ask again, milady, what was in these reports?"

She again glanced at Lady Stark. Surely she knew of what she was about to accuse the king of but she wanted to give her the chance to leave. When the woman gave no indication of budging she mentally sighed and leveled his gaze back upon the king, "Let us speak plainly."

"I thought we had been." He interjected.

She frowned, though she had to fight the urge to smile; it seemed that perhaps he had a similar sense of humor to her own, dark though it may be. "Well then I'll hedge no longer." She mustered up the rest of her courage and rushed forward with her words. "Have you or have you not taken Talisa Maegyr into your tent?"

The king surged to his feet, his chair threatening to topple over, "How dare you ask such questions. You have no right-"

"I have every right." She also stood and faced down his ire with her own previously bottled up frustrations. "You swore an oath to my father to forge a marital alliance between your house and his. You then used Frey bridges and Frey provisions to aid you in your war against the Lannisters. If the reports are true, now that victory appears to be yours for the taking, you have negated on your oath and seek to renegotiate in order to free yourself to wed another." His hardened expression fell into one of shock. The arrow struck home then and her fears had been confirmed, even if not with his words then with his reaction. "Can you deny these things, lord king?"

"What you have accused King Robb of just now, were what were in the reports?" His mother asked when he did not immediately answer and she nodded her head in confirmation. "And you said your father has not seen them yet?"

"No, Lady Stark, he has not. However they will be conveyed to him should I not return with King Robb himself by my side, the alliance still standing between the Starks and Freys. I do not think I need to warn you that my father is not above repaying betrayal with betrayal. Anyone less than King Robb himself as a future son-in-law will be seen as a betrayal and my father will repay in kind."

"Are you threatening us?" Robb growled out his question, his hand drifting to the hilt of his sword.

She also dropped her hand to her sword-hilt, more out of instinct than a desire to fight. "I am conveying facts, King Robb. I felt you should know these things before you made a decision you could not reverse."

"Why," his mother stepped closer, her hands clasped tight in front of her body, "why are you telling us this?"

Sascha sighed and for a moment closed her eyes. "I know the nature of my father and I know the reputation of my family." When she opened them she looked to Lady Stark. "I have not been away so long to have forgotten these things. I also know what my father is capable of if he feels himself betrayed." She moved her hand away from her sword and rubbed at her wrist before she looked up and gave the king her full attention again. "You have fought battles and won, and indeed the war could be over soon. So many have died already but thus far the killing has remained, for the most part, on the battlefield. Should you not follow through with your oath, I can guarantee you this: the killing will no longer be on the battlefields alone."

Robb stared at her a moment longer, the shock, the anger, all of it retreated into a look of neutrality. She could not perceive what it was he was thinking.

"I would ask to speak to my mother alone now, Lady Royce. My men will see to it that you and yours are looked after until we can meet again."

The deed done, and expected deliberation about to start, she nodded and turned to leave. However, there was something tickling the back of her mind and she knew she could not leave until she spoke it aloud. So she paused at the entrance to the tent and spoke over her shoulder, "If it is true, about the other woman, then know that Walder Frey cares not if his future son-in-law has mistresses a plenty. He merely wants a marriage alliance to secure his power and cares not for the vows of fidelity said between spouses."

She left them then, to deliberate and discuss, all the while hoping the decision would be a wise one.


	2. Marriage Negotiation

A Marriage Negotiation: Sascha

"My honored guests." Sascha stood beside the king and a few of his men, those he'd chosen to accompany him right away. They were standing before her father in the dimness of a dying day. The great hall was packed with her siblings and their wives and children, leaving little room to move let alone breathe. She knew her father had gathered them all here on purpose, as further reminder to the King of the North of what it was he'd very nearly had to fight against, had he chosen differently. "Be welcome within my walls and at my table." Robb accepted the bread and salt that was offered to him and each of his men did so as well. When it was offered to her she hesitated, wondering if they'd been too late in returning and now the bread and salt were poisoned. With a quick look to one of her brothers she saw no indication of such a trick and so accepted the bread and ate. "I extend to you my hospitality and my protection in the light of the Seven."

Sascha bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. She was certain the King felt no such welcome. From the moment they'd stepped foot inside the great hall she'd seen the looks of contempt and distrust thrown at the man's feet.

"We thank you for your hospitality." The King bowed his head slightly towards her father, and then to her brothers seated on either side of the great seat, lining the walls of the hall. "I've come to make my apologies my lord, and to beg your forgiveness for my extended delay in arriving."

Her father's face twisted into what she knew was his version of a smile. "Don't beg my forgiveness your grace. It wasn't me you near spurned with your delay, it was my daughters." He signaled and out from behind his throne traipsed two long lines of her sisters, and cousins.

Her father took the time to introduce each one, although he messed up on the second to last. He left her out though, as she was the only one of his daughter to have been married, widowed, and returned. He'd yet to really have an audience with her since her return in fact. He'd always had some excuse to not see her and she very much felt unwelcome in her old household. He probably wondered what it was that would bring her back here, especially since he knew as well as she that there was no lost love between them. She'd been happy to leave the Twins when she'd married, and he happy to be rid of her. Since she'd come back whenever they had spoken to each other it was as strangers, and barely civil ones at that.

The King stepped forward and looked at each of her sisters as he spoke. "My ladies, all men should keep their words, kings most of all. I was placed to marry one of you and I will not break that vow."

Her father clapped his hands, a near mocking sound, and her sisters began to file out of the room. Her youngest sister, Shirei, hesitated by the great seat and looked over her shoulder at Sascha. She wondered if it was wise to leave the King so soon after this sort of audience. There'd been no guarantee of his safety, no reassurance that her father was still in good faith either. As she thought of these thigns her father drew up close before them and glared at her, most likely sensing her distrust. She looked over his shoulder to Shirei who in turn gave her a small smile. She had no reason to stay, no logical argument, and so she sighed and moved away from the King and her father. Shirei opened her arms to Sascha and she quickly picked her up—one of the only sisters who was still fairly innocent and loving, as surprising as that was in this place.

She spent the following hour or so with her sisters. They were curious about the King's forces, and about the King himself. It was still not decided who among them was to marry the King. Sascha figured it would either be Roslin or Merry as they were the prettiest amongst her sisters, and the best educated for the position. The others, because of their looks or their mothers, had been educated for other duties—in the case of Walda she was near as good a fighter as any man amongst her father's forces.

She tried to keep the report on the king based off of facts, and her observations and not opinions. It was difficult to not pass judgment here or there and her contempt for his near oathbreaking did come through to her sisters. When she was called away to meet her father by one of her brothers she found herself thankful for the break from their interrogation.

Sascha found her father pacing on the north wall of the keep, staring down at the bridge she'd helped refurbish some years before. He had never given verbal recognition or support of her abilities for engineering and design and it had not been directly from him that she'd been given permission to experiment with her designs in the abandoned keep across the fallow field, though she'd known that he'd known she did it.

"He's a young runt nipping at my heels." Sascha smiled, the mental image created by her father both pleasing and accurate in her opinion. "He should know that king's depend upon their vassals more than vassals depend upon their kings. Kings rise and fall, but vassals and rivers remain."

Sascha kept silent, knowing that her father would continue and also would most likely not welcome her interruption or opinions.

"You will leave here Sascha." She stepped forward and laid her hands upon the cold stone of the wall. The chill it sent through her body kept her silent even when she wanted to yell back her questions. She had the scars to remind her of what happened when she questioned her father. "I don't like how you influence your sisters. Having one headstrong bitch of a daughter is bad enough. With your around the house will come to ruination soon enough."

"Afraid they may begin to think for themselves father?"

He turned towards her with such hatred in his eyes she flinched, afraid as she'd been as a child of the pain his assault would cause. But the pain never came and when she opened her eyes she saw the hatred recede into a satisfied gleam—he found her reaction just as satisfying as if he'd actually hit her. Sascha felt bile rise in her throat for allowing her old fear to return. She looked back towards the bridge and tightened her grip on the stones. She would not flinch again.

"The pup doesn't deserve to marry Roslin or Merry." Her father continued as if she'd never spoken. "He thinks he can come strutting into my keep after rutting around with some harlot and expect me to give him my best?" He glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes and saw that she'd gone deathly still. "You really think there is only one line of communication, daughter? You think I would not know of these things? A man does not reach my age by depending upon one person." He laughed, the sound wheezing and joyless. "It is good that you went through the trouble to retrieve him though. We would not want all his efforts to avenge his father to end up in bloody vain now would we?"

The threat behind his words was felt by her then and another chill, this one not caused by the stones, wracked her body. She did not want to think of what it was her father would've done had she not convinced the King to return with her. Sascha envisioned lots of death, blood, and tears and she wished that upon no one—not even the Lannisters. She was different from many in her family, perhaps because of the education her husband had given her. She felt no desire to seek vengeance against an entire household for a slight made against her by a single man. Let the matter be settled between the two initially involved and be done with it. How much simpler would Westeros be if that was how all houses looked upon each other.

"He's waiting in the great hall. Go and see what he has to say about the alliance."

Sascha opened her mouth to ask further questions for clarification but remembered his earlier near attack and closed her mouth instead. She did not wish to feel the sting of his hand, or further the sting of his insults. Instead she retreated from the wall and made her way to the great hall. If her own audience with her father was any indication of what he'd been like meeting with the King then it was entirely possible that he'd sent her to placate him into accepting a lesser choice.

She laid her hand upon the doorknob to the great hall and took a deep breath, letting it out as she pushed the door open. She found the King alone in the room, his body hunched over the end of the great table as if in deep thought. "My father bid me meet with you." She watched as his bowed head flew upwards and around to stare at her. She worried that he'd twist it right off with how quickly he'd turned to look at her. "What is that you wish to discuss?"

She made sure to keep her earlier distaste of the man, and her own frustrations against her father, wiped clean of her face. The longer the King stared at her the harder it was not to squirm under his gaze. She knew that her outfit was possibly one reason why he was staring, people in the north did not often wear bodices with trousers and half-skirts—a fashion she'd picked up from living in her husband's household. It was a practical outfit and afforded her the ease of movement she required for doing experiments while at the same time offered some slight feminine qualities, which reminded her of her role as a Lady—when she often wished to forget.

"Your grace?" She asked again when he still did not respond to her entrance.

Upon his face was a look of confusion and revulsion. "You." It wasn't a question, more of an accusation and she flinched as if he'd hit her. "I'm to marry you?"

Her stomach gave out and again her throat filled with bile. So this was her father's game? She was sending her into the wolf's den, sacrificing her instead of her sisters. His disgust with her was so great that he was willing to sell her off to this whelp of a man, who seemed as interested in marrying her as she was in him. "What did you say?" Her voice was low and she felt it rumble out of her chest.

The King ran a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up haphazardly, as he turned and kicked at the legs of one of the chairs at the great table. He fell into his seat but kept his eyes on her as he did so. They were cold and distrusting. "It seems that your father has decided that we are to be wed, if I'm understanding this situation correctly." She made no move, dared not flinch. From his earlier reaction to seeing her it appeared that he'd not known if was to be her just as she'd not known it was to be her as well. "Did you know of this when you so selflessly came to fetch me?" His voice dripped with sarcasm and again she felt as if he were striking her with each word he spoke. "That I would marry you upon our return? Was this your true motive for retrieving the King of the North, to secure for yourself an advantageous match after such a short and as I hear it, fruitless marriage?"

A hot bolt of anger erupted from her belly and shot both into her feet and up into her head. She knew her face and neck were flushing and she had to clench and unclench her fists as her side to keep from launching herself at him and pummeling him into a pulp—or at least trying. How dare he talk about her husband! How dare he throw such insults at her after he'd been caught guilty of infidelity on an oath and near ready to break it fully! She shifted her weight back and forth on her feet, weighing the pros and cons of leaving right now and finding something to blow up with her latest experiment. But she knew there would be no place she could hide from her father's wrath, or her newfound duty to her family. So instead she marched across the room, pulled out a chair, and took her time in situating herself across from him.

"King Robb," her voice was eerily calm when she finally spoke and she was glad that she'd not given into the urge to yell, granted his reaction to her calmness was so stark, "I do not take kindly to accusations of any kind against my character, especially without evidence aside from one's own predisposed opinion." She folded her hands together and leveled her gaze upon him. "I also believe any slanderous reference to my previous marriage is as insulting to myself as it is to my deceased husband, a man I highly respected and who was worthy of such."Her hands tightened, her knuckles going white, then loosened, the color returning to normal. "Whatever displeasure you have with this current situation I would ask that you voice that displeasure in a manner befitting a king, and not a petty child told he cannot have his dessert."

The king slapped his hands upon the table and stood to his feet, "How dare you speak to me in this manner!" He sounded exactly like the child she accused him of being.

She slapped her own hands on the table, "How dare you think to break an oath with my father and then sneer at me when you find that it is I whom you're to be saddled with!" He opened his mouth to speak but her raised voice carried on over his own initial response. "You accused me of orchestrating this match?" She waved a hand between them. "To be frank, majesty," her emphasis on his title dripped of sarcasm, "I would rather marry a white walker than be married to a man who holds me and my family in contempt and who prefers the presence of another woman."

"Then why marry me?" He yelled back at her and she suddenly felt the urge to tear her hair out and sit in a corner and shake uncontrollably. Did he really think that this was her idea? She sighed and shook her head.

"Contrary to what you might think, King Robb, but I did not know before I came into the room moments before that I was your intended bride. All my father indicated to me was that I was to meet you here in the great hall for a discussion of matters pertaining to your alliance with him." She smiled then, recalling all that her father had said, and left unsaid between them. "I suppose it is my own foolishness to think that I would be exempt of this possibility; you already referenced the reasons why I believed such. I am a widow and though I was married to my husband for two years we did not produce any children together." She brought her gaze back to his face from where it had wandered downwards to the table. "The nature of my marriage and childlessness of it are not to be mocked, King Robb, I will not tolerate that."

"If you are to be my wife," he put special emphasis on the first word, "then you will have to learn to tolerate much more than my contrary opinions."

Was he truly so heartless, so wrapped up in his own desires, that he could not see when he'd slighted her? That the slight was not the type a husband should give to his wife, or even betrothed. Did he truly believe that a man, a king, could come and go without thinking once of another? She sighed, finding no other argument to throw at him that he'd not throw back at her in a childish, selfish manner. The king also sat, a moment or two after her, and neither one of them spoke for some time. She had not a clue what it was he was thinking but she had already begun mulling over all that she knew of this man, her perhaps possible future husband.

Her husband had told her of all the houses of the Westeros, in much greater detail than her Septa had been able to. Of the Starks he'd mentioned honor and integrity, two qualities that she saw the man sitting before her and yet she saw him lacking in both as well. Perhaps losing his father, his sisters, and fighting this war had not brought out the best in him—though she'd always thought harsh times were like the fire in a blacksmith's shop, they were what shaped you into your strongest form.

What she'd seen of this king in their past few meetings had made her painfully aware of the age difference between them. True she was only six years his elder but from the petty ways in which he spoke, the impulsive ways in which he acted, those six years might as well have been sixty. That he'd find a match with her to be so revolting, and would show it thusly, was testimony to his "runt" like qualities that her father had mentioned earlier.

Loathed as she was to agree with her father, it seemed that her future husband was more of a runt than a wolf. Though, if they were to marry, and he accepted her guidance, perhaps she could help him grow into the wolf that his family line had so long been like before him. She looked across the table towards him and saw his emotions play out on his face. When she saw a glimmer of hope she smirked and shook her head; she knew what that hope was for.

"If you ask to marry one of my sisters," she sat up straighter in her chair when he looked over to her, his expression now one of surprise, as if he worried that he'd spoken his thoughts aloud, "my father will refuse."

"How do you know?"

She smiled, "A few other things he indicated to me before I met you here," she held up her hand and began to count off the items with her fingers as she continued, "I was not going to be staying here much longer as he felt I was a bad influence on my sisters; you did not deserve to marry any of his pretty or sweet daughters because of how long you delayed; I was foolish to think that he hadn't already known of your dalliance with 'the woman' but that it was good I'd retrieved you as if I hadn't things would be much worse than they already will be." She dropped her hands into her lap. "I believe we can accurately deduct from those statements that he was referencing the fact that after we are married I will be returning with you and your forces to Winterfell; you will marry me, the least desirable option, as punishment for your almost betrayal of the oath, and that if you think otherwise he will follow through with whatever horrible backup plan he'd already had near set in motion before we returned."

The king looked at her for a few moments, studying her expression for signs of duplicity no doubt—she knew he'd only find her tired resignation—then replied, "If we are to marry," she raised an eyebrow at his continued use of the conditional term, "we must come to terms with one another."

"Indeed." Now he wanted to play nice with her? She would play along, for the time being, and see where his intended destination may be. "And how might we do that? Should we draw up our own contract?"

He grew quiet again, as if in deep thought, and she quickly added. "I was in jest, your grace."

"It is not a bad thought, Lady Royce. I understand that we are coming together under less than ideal circumstances and should we discuss these circumstances in manners befitting king and lady," she fought a smile at his reference to her earlier accusation, "then perhaps we can alleviate some of the pressures that have been put upon us."

"What is it that you wish to discuss? From your earlier indications, it seems that you know enough about me to pass judgment."

He looked ready to argue with her but then he surprised her by calmly responding, "And the same could be said of you to me, milady." She began to nibble on her lower lip, caught between surprise at his sudden spark of maturity and her own confusion over his intentions. "You are already aware of certain aspects of my past dealings that would make any future bride nervous and uncomfortable."

She stopped chewing and frowned, "I am not a blushing virgin, your grace. I am well aware of the goings on between men and women outside of marriage, even if I do not partake in such things." She'd had her offers, even while her husband had been alive, but she'd never been interested. All the free time that she had she devoted to her experiments and she found the added drama of pursuing lovers—as she saw from those around her—would be too tiresome to get anything productive done.

"In any case, Lady Royce, I believe it would be pertinent if we were to discuss said dealings so that we can both understand where it is our marriage will go once the oath has been sworn."

She raised an eyebrow. This was the first time he hadn't said, "if" in regards to their union. She sought to reassure him, slightly, before he talked himself into a corner.

"Your grace, you need not justify your relationship with this other woman to me. I have been privy to many a discussion made by my men, or by my late husband's men, of how men and women can grow close to one another during dangerous times. As I understand it, she and yourself were given the opportunity to grow close and you did so, under trying circumstances. Your forged a bond with one another that outsiders may not understand and for which you were near willing to sacrifice an alliance for."

The look of surprise on his face was like salve to her heart. She'd proved to him that she was observant and that she was a mind to contend with, not just a body to marry. Perhaps this was a good sign for their marriage.

"Then if you know this, you must also know that I will not give her up." Then again: maybe not. With his words he further proved to her how selfish he truly was and how much of a nuisance he already found her to be, and they weren't even married yet. "She will be under my protection and provision for the rest of her days."

She leaned forward and asked, "Will our marriage always be like this, your grace?"

"What do you mean?" He also leaned forward, mimicking her.

"Will our marriage consist of you making decisions and only telling me after the fact, without any prior warning or perhaps even discussion of the matter? Is that how marriages work in the North?" She looked at him closely, trying to perceive what it was he wanted from her, from this marriage. He gave no indication of either. "Perhaps I am mistaken over the nature of marriages. I grew up with my father's version and knew intimately that that was not what I wanted or intended to accept, no matter the consequences of fighting a possible husband of like-mindedness to my father. My late husband was the antithesis to my father thankfully, and he encouraged openness between us, mutual respect and honor. When decisions were made in our household we had dual responsibility for it, as I was always consulted and could weigh in on the decision." She folded her hands together again. "I would know now, your grace, if I am to expect a marriage like that of my father or like that of my previous husband with you."

Robb opened his mouth to speak but she continued suddenly, cutting him off, "If you had consulted me regarding Lady Talisa I would have encouraged you to do as you have done. You cannot cast her out, not now, at least not unless she has an advantageous marriage offer that would ensure her safety and wellbeing." She suddenly sighed and leaned back, looking up at him and allowing the sadness of their future union to pass over her face. "But you did not consult me, did not give me the chance, and now we may begin our marriage with the knowledge that you consult only yourself in regards to matters of the heart, whereas you have a counsel of men to consult with all other matters."

"I did not consult you, Lady Royce, because in truth it did not concern you." It was official: her future husband was an idiot. She had to bite the inside her cheek to keep from calling him thus. "The husband is the provider and protector of the wife, the wife the mother of his heirs. There need not be any consulting between husband and wife over matters of state, only matters of home."

Morbid amusement rushed through her and she fought the urge to giggle at his absurdity, "A former lover of my husband living in our house is not a matter of home with which to discuss? Most interesting logic, your grace, please enlighten me of more such tidbits of wisdom."

"You mock me, lady."

She finally gave into the maniacal urge to laugh at him and stood to her full height, staring down at his surprised face. "And you me. You come into my father's house thinking you can repair the damage you caused to an alliance by marrying one of his daughters, without thought or concern over which daughter and whether or not she wants to marry you. You mistreat those around you for the sake of a strategic bridge, and I speak not of just myself but also of your lover Lady Talisa. You strut around with the arrogance of a king by the maturity of a boy." He stood to his feet so quickly his chair fell to the floor and she let out a joyless laugh as she pointed towards the fallen chair. "See? You cannot control your temper when the truth, or even untruth, is thrown in your face. You say a husband is the protector and provider of his wife, the leader of the household; how can this wife expect that husband," she thrust her finger in his direction, "to do much of either when he cannot provide for the wife's wellbeing not just in body but also in soul, when he cannot protect her from his own temper and ire? When he cannot lead the household into harmony when he himself sows discord with his tantrums and unwillingness to listen."

She couldn't stand to look at him anymore, listen to his absurdities anymore. She was going to find her father and tell him that she'd leave the Twins but she was not going to marry King Robb. Suddenly she felt his hands on her upper arms and was nearly pulled off her feet with how quickly he had her twirled and set between himself and the table. While her mind knew that it was King Robb of the North, a small part inside her did not. This small part, an echo of her childhood, took over. She rotated her lower arms upward, causing his grip on her uppers arms to loosen. She then slammed one of her heels on his foot and brought her other knee up and caught him in his stomach when he'd begun to lean over from the pain. Then she reached out and grabbed his upper arms and jerked him forward and around her until it was he pinned to the end of the table.

He was still sucking in much needed breath when she spoke, "I will not be manhandled, your grace. I ask that you use your words to stay me, and not your body." She rubbed at her wrists as if the movement could ease the years old pain left behind.

"My lady, I apologize," he wheezed out, "I ask your forgiveness." He rubbed a hand over his stomach before standing to his full height again, only barely taller than the woman herself. "I feared that you would leave before we could settle this."

The childhood fear abated and her earlier sarcastic disgust at the prospect of marrying him returned, "Settle what, your grace? The projection of a loveless, lifeless, joyless marriage where my value is a high as the ground upon which you walk?"

The king frowned, "I realize now that my words were harsh and the intentions unclear. I ask your forgiveness for that as well." She noticed that they still stood close, his rear still pressed against the table, but he didn't seem to find the proximity a problem and so she didn't make a move to shift away. "You are correct in that a husband should lead a household by example that he should look after not just the physical wellbeing of those under his protection but also the emotional and mental wellbeing as well. I have every intention of doing just that."

"But," she interrupted and smiled, "I sense a 'but' coming from you."

He surprised her by smiling a similar smile at her, "I cannot guarantee that I will always have the time to take into consideration your view on matters of state. I cannot guarantee that I will always have your feelings at the forefront of my mind when I make a decision. The decisions I make must be for the best of the realm, and not just the household. Surely you understand the sacrifices we will both have to make as King and Queen of the North?"

Sacrifices must be made on both parts, she wanted to add, and kings must lead by example. Kings should be the most observant of all within a kingdom, and not blind to the damage they cause to those around them. She did not say these things, however, and instead she stepped back and clasped her hands in front of her body in as demure a position as she could make her body assume. "I do understand, your grace. I will endeavor to conduct myself in a manner befitting a queen."

"Robb." She looked up. "I believe it is customary between future spouses to address each other by name." He rubbed his stomach again. "Especially when one spouse has trounced the other."

She smiled, that was the closest to a compliment he'd given her since they'd met. It was also an offered truce and she was too tired to keep on fighting. "Well Robb, I promise to contain my displeasure with you to behind closed doors."

"Very well, Sascha." Robb offered her his arm. "I know this does not erase the pain I've caused or the insult I've given to your family, but I do hope that we may begin this marriage with true understanding of one another."

She studied his face for a moment before she accepted his arm and said with a hint of sadness, "That is a good intention, milord, and hopefully not impossible."

* * *

><p><span>A Marriage Negotiation: Robb<span>

"My honored guests," Robb and Lady Royce, accompanied only by her men and a few of his own chosen ones, stood before the great seat of Walder Frey, "be welcome within my walls and at my table." Robb accepted the bread and salt that was offered to him and he knew each of his men would do the same. When it was offered to Lady Royce he saw her hesitate before she also took and ate of the bread. He wondered what it was that had made her hesitate—it was her father after all. "I extend to you my hospitality and my protection in the light of the Seven."

Robb felt no such welcome, and the bread had near scratched a hole in his throat it'd been so hard. From the moment they'd stepped foot inside the great hall he'd felt an oppressive hatred pointed directly towards himself and it had him wondering how much worse it could've been if he'd chosen differently. "We thank you for your hospitality." He bowed his head slightly towards the older man, and then to his many sons seated on either side of the great seat, lining the walls of the hall. "I've come to make my apologies my lord, and to beg your forgiveness for my extended delay in arriving."

"Don't beg my forgiveness your grace. It wasn't me you near spurned with your delay, it was my daughters." He signaled and out from behind his throne traipsed two long lines of girls, ranging in age and beauty. The majority were just as ill looking as their father, or grandfather as he came to find out, but there were a few who had some semblance of beauty in their looks—as Lady Royce did—that they must've gotten from whichever mother they'd had out of the dozen or so Frey was said to have taken.

After the awkwardly long introduction, Lady Royce being left out, Robb stepped forward and looked at each of the girls as he spoke. "My ladies, all men should keep their words, kings most of all. I was placed to marry one of you and I will not break that vow."

After this, Lord Frey seemed somewhat satisfied and had called for a private meeting with Robb. Lady Royce had again hesitated, this time in leaving his side, but after a glare from her father she'd retreated with the rest of her sisters. He'd watched her pick up the youngest daughter, her sister, on her way out and the earlier sulking he'd seen on the young girls face immediately changed to one of joy.

His following conversation, if it could be called that—though it had been more of a swallowing-of-his-pride chastisement from a dastardly conniving browbeater—with Walder Frey still burned hotly in his mind as Robb now sat at the great table. The hall was empty and he awaited his future bride without support from mother, uncle, or friend. It had nearly been a quarter of an hour since Lord Frey had left, with the intention of finding Robb's future bride for an official introduction before the wedding—to take place in three days time. Yes, his future bride, a Frey girl, not Talisa.

Robb laid his head in the palms of his hands, elbows braced on the table, his fingers scratching at his scalp—as if the comforting gesture would erase the painful memory of first debating with his mother, then later, of having to tell Talisa the results of said debate. His mother had been a staunch supporter of Lady Royce's arguments; she'd even reminded him of Grey Wolf's attack on Greatjon all those months before when Robb had accused him of being an oath breaker.

At that reminder, the words that Robb had had ready in his throat to throw back at his mother—and in turn Lady Royce—had died, swallowed along with his pride. It was true; he knew it in his soul even if his heart was still set upon Talisa. If he chose her over the oath he'd sworn to Lord Frey then he'd be just as guilty as Greatjon nearly had been and no better than the Kingslayer himself. He would be throwing away a valuable alliance at the climax of a series victories, at the most delicate moment of either winning the war or leaving everything in ruins.

Explaining this to Talisa, however, had not been as easy as it had been for him to see and accept it—even if he did not like to accept it. She'd asked what of his oath to her, what of the bond they'd shared, she'd questioned what she was to become—the once lover to the King of the North—and where was she to go if he was to marry and she was no longer welcome amongst his people? All valid questions and his head still hurt as he'd yet to find all the answers.

He'd reassured her that no matter what he would always love her first and foremost and that that had not changed. She'd fallen into his arms crying at that point and every tear she'd shed was like a knife thrust to his heart. He continued with telling her that the bond they'd created between them could not be broken—he hadn't wanted to ask if she was willing to stay with him, in bed and out, even though he was to be married to another; she deserved better than that and he would not demean her in that fashion. He'd very nearly given into the desire to wipe away her tears with cries of pleasure then and so had stepped away from her and placed himself across the tent from her in order to continue.

Next he'd promised her protection, even from his future bride if need be, and promised her welcome amongst his people and in his kingdom for as long as she lived. Her counter argument had him pausing, "But what if, for your next bridge, you are required to give me up?" When he hadn't been able to answer she'd left his tent, but not the camp he was told later, and he'd followed Lady Royce and her men back to the Twins—the rest of his camp due to arrive for the wedding a day or so behind.

His initial audience with Lord Frey had been grating and he'd very nearly lost his temper more than once. The old man had insulted him time and again for delaying and had made insulations—fairly close to the truth in reality—about why Robb had delayed. The meeting had ended with Robb swearing once more his oath to follow through with the marriage alliance and with Lord Frey grinning wolfishly at him in return.

"My father bid me meet with you." Robb's head felt it would snap clear off his shoulders with the speed in which he looked up and over his shoulder at the woman now standing inside the great hall with him. "What is that you wish to discuss?"

Lady Royce stared at him in return, her face devoid of any expression that could give him a clue as to what she was feeling or thinking in this moment. She'd changed from the battle gear in which he'd first seen her into an equally odd arrangement of clothing: a gold embroidered black bodice that was connected to a black skirt with similar gold embroidery that had an open front, under which she wore black trousers and black boots. The outfit was a strange mixture of feminine and masculine qualities—much like the woman—and Robb wasn't sure if it was the outfit or the woman herself that had him sputtering for words.

"Your grace?" She asked again, making Robb painfully aware of his lack of response—aside from gaping.

"You." It wasn't a question, more of an accusation—even he heard the accusatory tone in his voice. He saw her jerk her head to the side as if he'd physically slapped her. "I'm to marry you?"

This time he did not have to wonder what it was she was feeling: she made it quite plain with her sudden look of disgust and anger. "What did you say?" Her voice was low and, if he wasn't mistaken, there was a dangerous quality to it that made it seem like she was growling.

Robb suddenly felt the need to sit down. Using his foot he kicked at one of the chair's legs until it shifted away from the table enough for him to sit. "It seems that your father has decided that we are to be wed, if I'm understanding this situation correctly." He kept his eyes on her face as he lowered himself into the chair—so far he saw no indication that she'd known of this decision prior to coming into the great hall, but then again she could be very clever. "Did you know of this when you so selflessly came to fetch me? That I would marry you upon our return? Was this your true motive for retrieving the King of the North, to secure for yourself an advantageous match after such a short and as I hear it, fruitless marriage?"

He watched her fists as they clenched then unclenched by her sides. She'd yet to move from the doorway and from the way her body weight shifted on her feet he got the distinct impression that she wanted to run away. She didn't, of course she couldn't, and instead she came closer until she could pull out a chair across from him and sat down as well. She still maintained a tense silence as she tucked herself in and brought her hands up, lying them palm-down on the table between them.

"King Robb," her voice was eerily calm when she finally spoke and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise in response, "I do not take kindly to accusations of any kind against my character, especially without evidence aside from one's own predisposed opinion." She folded her hands together and leveled her gaze upon him; he couldn't move, not with her staring at him like that. "I also believe any slanderous reference to my previous marriage is as insulting to myself as it is to my deceased husband, a man I highly respected and who was worthy of such."Her hands tightened, her knuckles going white, then loosened, the color returning to normal. "Whatever displeasure you have with this current situation I would ask that you voice that displeasure in a manner befitting a king, and not a petty child told he cannot have his dessert."

Robb, if he'd been Grey Wolf, would've growled in response to her own accusation. Instead, however, he slapped his hands on the table's surface and surged to his feet, "How dare you speak to me in this manner!"

She slapped her own hands on the table, "How dare you think to break an oath with my father and then sneer at me when you find that it is I whom you're to be saddled with!" He opened his mouth to speak but her raised voice carried on over his own initial response. "You accused me of orchestrating this match?" She waved a hand between them. "To be frank, majesty," her emphasis on his title dripped of sarcasm, "I would rather marry a white walker than be married to a man who holds me and my family in contempt and who prefers the presence of another woman."

"Then why marry me?" Robb found himself yelling the question at her as he'd not much liked being compared to a white walker. He watched as her face was emptied of all anger and her shoulders slumped in defeat almost immediately.

"Contrary to what you might think, King Robb, but I did not know before I came into the room moments before that I was your intended bride. All my father indicated to me was that I was to meet you here in the great hall for a discussion of matters pertaining to your alliance with him." He watched as the corner of her mouth quirked upwards in a half smile, one that held no joy. "I suppose it is my own foolishness to think that I would be exempt of this possibility; you already referenced the reasons why I believed such. I am a widow and though I was married to my husband for two years we did not produce any children together." She brought her gaze back to his face from where it had wandered downwards to the table. "The nature of my marriage and childlessness of it are not to be mocked, King Robb, I will not tolerate that."

"If you are to be my wife," he put special emphasis on the first word, "then you will have to learn to tolerate much more than my contrary opinions."

She looked to argue with him once more, her mouth opening and closing in silence a few times, before she sighed and fell back into her chair—an almost childlike movement not at all matching the physical features or words of the woman he'd been arguing with. Robb waited a moment before he too sat down. Neither one of them spoke for some time. He had not a clue what it was she was thinking but he had already begun mulling over all that he knew of this woman, his perhaps possible future bride.

It had been his mother who'd told him of all the daughters of Lord Frey, the possible options for his marriage, and it had only been after his own further prompting that she'd filled him in on Lady Royce herself. From what his mother had known, Lady Sascha Royce was a headstrong but gracious woman, favored by the late King Renly for her ingenuity. His mother hadn't quite all the details but it seemed the Lady Sascha had an innate knack for designing "things" and that a few of her designs had been successfully employed by King Renly's army—for what good it'd done them in the end.

Lady Sascha, for all her otherwise unfeminine qualities, according to his mother, had been a loyal wife and had been seen to be kindly and even affectionate with him as well—proving that though fruitless, the marriage had not been an unhappy one. She had no enemies at court, but neither had she friends; mere acquaintances from what his mother had known, much preferring the sole company of her husband or herself to that of others.

From his own observations, it seemed that she was an odd mixture of obstinacy and compliancy. She did seem perfectly rational and had only responded to him with raised voice and anger after he'd provoked her—he secretly agreed that he'd been reacting like a petulant child earlier but he wasn't about to tell her that. She was older than he as well, by at least a half dozen years. There were many reasons why he should be insulted by her as his future bride: the widow status, the possibility that she was unable to carry future heirs, and her age were just the ready few he could think of at this time.

"If you ask to marry one of my sisters," she spoke again and he came back from his mental ponderings, wondering for a moment if he'd spoken his concerns aloud, "my father will refuse."

"How do you know?"

She smiled that joy-less smile again, "A few other things he indicated to me before I met you here," she held up her hand and began to count off the items with her fingers as she continued, "I was not going to be staying here much longer as he felt I was a bad influence on my sisters; you did not deserve to marry any of his pretty or sweet daughters because of how long you delayed; I was foolish to think that he hadn't already known of your dalliance with 'the woman' but that it was good I'd retrieved you as if I hadn't things would be much worse than they already will be." She dropped her hands into her lap. "I believe we can accurately deduct from those statements that he was referencing the fact that after we are married I will be returning with you and your forces to Winterfell; you will marry me, the least desirable option, as punishment for your almost betrayal of the oath, and that if you think otherwise he will follow through with whatever horrible backup plan he'd already had near set in motion before we returned."

Robb looked at her for a few moments, seeing nothing but resignation and fatigue in her expression, then replied, "If we are to marry," she raised an eyebrow at his continued use of the conditional term but he continued nonetheless, "we must come to terms with one another."

"Indeed." For a moment it looked as if she was amused by his statement. "And how might we do that? Should we draw up our own contract?"

He knew she was in jest but he found the idea appealing. Already he knew her to be an oddity with the fearless qualities of his youngest sister, the tenacity of his mother, and the sense of honor of his father. If they had an agreement between each other, prior to their public swearing of fealty to one another, then they might enter this marriage with at least a little less contempt for one another. He wasn't quite sure if she felt contempt for him, again she was a strange mixture of typical female outbursts and eerily contained calculations. But he knew for himself, that he'd feel much more comfortable if they could talk out some of the issues of concern he felt.

"I was in jest, your grace." It seemed that he'd again allowed his thoughts and feelings to leak out on his face and he shook himself to come back to the present.

"It is not a bad thought, Lady Royce. I understand that we are coming together under less than ideal circumstances and should we discuss these circumstances in manners befitting king and lady," he saw her lips twitch as if she fought a smile at his words, "then perhaps we can alleviate some of the pressures that have been put upon us."

"What is it that you wish to discuss? From your earlier indications, it seems that you know enough about me to pass judgment."

Robb bit his initial retort and instead replied, "And the same could be said of you to me, milady." She suddenly began to chew on her lower lip and he wondered if this was an indication of nervousness or deep thought. Only time would tell. "You are already aware of certain aspects of my past dealings that would make any future bride nervous and uncomfortable."

She stopped chewing and frowned, "I am not a blushing virgin, your grace. I am well aware of the goings on between men and women outside of marriage, even if I do not partake in such things." She might have said the latter to reassure him, or she might have said the latter to further convict him. Again only time would tell.

"In any case, Lady Royce, I believe it would be pertinent if we were to discuss said dealings so that we can both understand where it is our marriage will go once the oath has been sworn."

She raised an eyebrow and he realized it was the first time he hadn't used the conditional word in reference to their marriage.

"Your grace, you need not justify your relationship with this other woman to me. I have been privy to many a discussion made by my men, or by my late husband's men, of how men and women can grow close to one another during dangerous times. As I understand it, she and yourself were given the opportunity to grow close and you did so, under trying circumstances. Your forged a bond with one another that outsiders may not understand and for which you were near willing to sacrifice an alliance for."

Robb again felt as if the woman had swept his legs out from underneath him. How was it that she knew so intimately the things of his heart? Was he transparent? Had he indicated in word or body any of his thoughts and feelings without realizing it? Was it her added years over himself that allowed her this great advantage of gauging a man's motives? This was the second time she'd done this and he felt that it would most definitely not be the last.

"Then if you know this, you must also know that I will not give her up." He watched her face as a mixture of emotions leaked out: frustration, fear, anger, resignation. "She will be under my protection and provision for the rest of her days."

Lady Royce leaned forward, "Will our marriage always be like this, your grace?"

"What do you mean?"

"Will our marriage consist of you making decisions and only telling me after the fact, without any prior warning or perhaps even discussion of the matter? Is that how marriages work in the North?" He felt her trying to look inside his soul this time, the intensity of her stare when she spoke again gave him that feeling. "Perhaps I am mistaken over the nature of marriages. I grew up with my father's version and knew intimately that that was not what I wanted or intended to accept, no matter the consequences of fighting a possible husband of like-mindedness to my father. My late husband was the antithesis to my father thankfully, and he encouraged openness between us, mutual respect and honor. When decisions were made in our household we had dual responsibility for it, as I was always consulted and could weigh in on the decision." She folded her hands together again. "I would know now, your grace, if I am to expect a marriage like that of my father or like that of my previous husband with you."

Robb opened his mouth to speak but she continued suddenly, cutting him off, "If you had consulted me regarding Lady Talisa I would have encouraged you to do as you have done. You cannot cast her out, not now, at least not unless she has an advantageous marriage offer that would ensure her safety and wellbeing." She suddenly sighed and leaned back, giving him a look of sadness. "But you did not consult me, did not give me the chance, and now we may begin our marriage with the knowledge that you consult only yourself in regards to matters of the heart, whereas you have a counsel of men to consult with all other matters."

"I did not consult you, Lady Royce, because in truth it did not concern you." He knew he sounded like a child, her responding expression had him feeling doubly so. "The husband is the provider and protector of the wife, the wife the mother of his heirs. There need not be any consulting between husband and wife over matters of state, only matters of home."

Lady Royce suddenly looked amused, "A former lover of my husband living in our house is not a matter of home with which to discuss? Most interesting logic, your grace, please enlighten me of more such tidbits of wisdom."

"You mock me, lady."

Lady Royce suddenly stood and glared down her nose at him, making him jerk with how quickly she'd changed from her earlier poise to this barely restrained tower of ire, "And you me. You come into my father's house thinking you can repair the damage you caused to an alliance by marrying one of his daughters, without thought or concern over which daughter and whether or not she wants to marry you. You mistreat those around you for the sake of a strategic bridge, and I speak not of just myself but also of your lover Lady Talisa. You strut around with the arrogance of a king by the maturity of a boy." He stood to his feet so quickly his chair fell to the floor and she further surprised him by letting out a joyless laugh. "See? You cannot control your temper when the truth, or even untruth, is thrown in your face. You say a husband is the protector and provider of his wife, the leader of the household; how can this wife expect that husband," she thrust her finger in his direction, "to do much of either when he cannot provide for the wife's wellbeing not just in body but also in soul, when he cannot protect her from his own temper and ire? When he cannot lead the household into harmony when he himself sows discord with his tantrums and unwillingness to listen."

She turned and he saw that she had every intention of leaving the room. He moved without thought and within seconds he had grabbed her upper arm, twirled her around, and placed her between himself and the end of the table, his hands still gripping her upper arms. Her reaction took him by surprise, but then again nothing about her should take him by surprise—as everything she said and did was contrary to what he expected. She rotated her lower arms upward, causing his grip on her uppers arms to loosen. She then slammed one of her heels on his foot and brought her other knee up and caught him in his stomach when he'd begun to lean over from the pain. Then she reached out and grabbed his upper arms and jerked him forward and around her until it was he pinned to the end of the table.

He was still sucking in much needed breath when she spoke, "I will not be manhandled, your grace. I ask that you use your words to stay me, and not your body." He saw her again rub at her wrists as she had in his tent and it made him wonder if something had happened before that would cause her to react in such a way.

"My lady, I apologize," he wheezed out, "I ask your forgiveness." He rubbed a hand over his stomach before standing to his full height again, only barely taller than the woman herself. "I feared that you would leave before we could settle this."

The look of fear and concern that she'd had during their mutual assault on one another abated to one of near amusement, "Settle what, your grace? The projection of a loveless, lifeless, joyless marriage where my value is a high as the ground upon which you walk?"

Robb frowned, "I realize now that my words were harsh and the intentions unclear. I ask your forgiveness for that as well." He noticed that they still stood close, his rear still pressed against the table, but he didn't find the proximity a problem, and from her fairly relaxed stance she didn't seem to be aware of it or have a problem with it either. "You are correct in that a husband should lead a household by example that he should look after not just the physical wellbeing of those under his protection but also the emotional and mental wellbeing as well. I have every intention of doing just that."

"But," she interrupted and he paused when he saw a slight smile tug at her lips, "I sense a 'but' coming from you."

He found himself smiling a similar smile at her, "I cannot guarantee that I will always have the time to take into consideration your view on matters of state. I cannot guarantee that I will always have your feelings at the forefront of my mind when I make a decision. The decisions I make must be for the best of the realm, and not just the household. Surely you understand the sacrifices we will both have to make as King and Queen of the North?"

"I do understand, your grace." She stepped back then, her hands coming together in front of her body. "I will endeavor to conduct myself in a manner befitting a queen."

"Robb." She looked up. "I believe it is customary between future spouses to address each other by name." He rubbed his stomach again. "Especially when one spouse has trounced the other."

She smiled and Robb was taken aback for a moment at the fullness of her smile and the added level of grace and beauty it gave her. "Well Robb, I promise to contain my displeasure with you to behind closed doors."

"Very well, Sascha." Robb offered her his arm. "I know this does not erase the pain I've caused or the insult I've given to your family, but I do hope that we may begin this marriage with true understanding of one another."

She studied his face for a moment before she accepted his arm and said with a hint of sadness, "That is a good intention, milord, and hopefully not impossible."


	3. How To Guide for a Wedding and Night

_A reminder: this is not a day-by-day retelling of Sascha and Robb's story but mere instances, in what leads them from the marriage into the thereafter. If you have a particular instance you'd like to see both perspectives of then please feel free to tell me and I'd be happy to write it—taking requests if you will. I am writing this scene by scene from different perspectives—if you hadn't caught on to that by now then…well moving on. I own nothing but Sascha and the idea for this story. Thank you!_

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><p><span>How-to Guide for a Wedding and Night: Robb<span>

Robb had very nearly given into Greatjon's offhanded advice prior to the ceremony, to get a bit tipsy to help ease his nerves. If he had been going through this as Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell, that would be one thing, but he was Robb Stark, King of the North, the Young Wolf. No matter how much he'd wanted to take the bite out of his nerves with a few shots of something strong, he'd refrained. It had been easy to stick to this royal standard whilst he was alone but once he'd been led to the sept and his bride-to-be was led down the aisle towards him, he'd wished that he'd at least taken a sip.

He'd not been able to see her face as her father had led her down the aisle and from he could see of her hands and her steps, there was no faltering in her movements. He wondered if she had greater courage than he in this matter—as she'd already gone through such a ceremony before, and to a man not of her choosing. He supposed he should try to find some comfort in knowing that at least one of them knew relatively what they were doing—though based on the earlier argument during their "negotiation," it appeared that they had different understandings of what roles the husband/wife held within marriage. But at least he wasn't marrying someone who would expect something of him which had couldn't and had no inclination to give—at least not any time soon: his heart and devotion.

He earnestly hoped that within time he could hold her in high esteem and affection, she would after all be the one to share his bed and his life from now until death. Perhaps in time…Robb had shaken himself to keep Talisa's image from his mind during the ceremony. He knew it would be an affront to Talisa and an insult to his future wife to think of her at such a time, and so he focused instead on the words of the officiator of the ceremony and on his wife-to-be.

Thankfully his hands had not shaken and his voice had not faltered as they'd said their vows in the Light of the Seven. The only mishap had been when he was to cloak her; because their heights were so similar, and it seemed they were of equal levels of nervousness after all, in spite of earlier appearances, when she'd tipped forward to give aid to his cloaking, whilst he'd moved forward to cloak her, they'd bumped foreheads rather forcibly, and audibly.

The only members in the great hall who dared to let out a chuckle had been her brothers and younger sisters, but they'd quickly been silenced with a glare from Lord Frey. He'd seen her hand jerk as if she wanted to rub her forehead but she'd refrained and instead stood still while he'd finished cloaking her. When he'd made eye contact with her, he thought he saw a hint of amusement, but he didn't let his eyes linger to figure out if that was fact.

After they'd finished the near disastrous cloaking ceremony, they'd all adjourned to the great hall where the makings of a feast were already laid out. Almost at once Lord Frey made a lengthy speech about the delights of having a son-in-law who did not break oaths and was a man of his word—and Robb was not deaf to the not so subtle innuendos to the contrary lacing the old man's words. He'd been required to make a separate speech, thanking his hosts, and officially introducing his mother and a few of his men—they'd arrived late the night before. There'd been clapping, some feigned and some already drunken, and then they all had set to feasting.

Again Robb refrained from over-indulging in the wine and ale that was served; however tempting the numb it'd bring was to him, he did not want to be so besotted that he couldn't walk straight once the festivities were over. He also feared what he might say or do if he did allow himself to become mindless with drink while his nerves were so high and the memory of Talisa so bitter. The knowledge that she was encamped with the rest of his forces outside these very walls only made the food he ate taste of ash and the smiles he forced feel like he was put upon the rack. They were to be separated now, even if they stood side by side, his duty to his new wife standing between them.

Lowering his still half-full cup back to the table, Robb watched the dancers moving on the now-cleared-of-tables-and-feasters-floor in the middle of the hall. His wife sat to his right, his mother beside her, and his father-in-law to his left. His father-in-law had been deep into the cups and was near snoring by his side, his young wife pitifully staring at the goings on from his opposite side. Robb couldn't help but see a hunted deer whenever he looked upon the young Lady Frey. How trapped she must feel, how pathetic she must see her future to be.

He could empathize with the sense of entrapment. His oath had bound him to this arrow of a moment, a moment that rendered to his heart a wound he wondered if he'd ever recover from. He was not so aloof, however, to think that he was the only one suffering at this time. The feast had lasted near two hours now and while neither he nor his wife had neglected their duties in thanking well-wishers or responding to the numerous toasts made in their honor, neither he nor his wife had spoken directly to each other. Aside from the vows they'd exchanged, Robb had to yet to say anything to her and she to him. They'd yet to even really look at one another.

Robb did not know if he should make an attempt to breach the gulf that lay between them, did not know if that would help or hinder, and so he remained silent. With time, he hoped, they would learn how to meet each other half-way, come to an understanding, and perhaps even grow to be amiable towards each other. He knew that his own father and mother had not been in love when they'd married but had been able to grow into love with another—of course neither his mother nor his father had loved another before each other and so their situation was different in that regard and that fact offered him little comfort. At this moment in time, Robb felt that his wife was as inclined towards him as he was towards her, which was next to nothing aside from duty.

"Your grace." Robb near started when the woman in question suddenly spoke up by his side. He looked towards her but found that her eyes were still on the dancers. "Would it not be negligent of us to remain seated at our own wedding feast whilst our guests continue to dance in hopes of enticing us to join them?"

Robb looked back to the dancers in confusion. Why would he want to dance when he felt like doing nothing more than to give into the childish impulse of throwing himself into bed and sleeping away this whole ordeal? When he glanced back towards his wife he looked past her and made eye contact with his mother, who was moving her eyes between his face and the dancers, as if in a silent plea for him to do something. It was then that he remembered the custom of the Twins: prior to the end of the feast the bride and groom shared a dance.

"You're right." He pushed away from the table and stood, extending his hand towards her. "We have been remiss in our duties."

She finally looked away from the dancers and made eye contact with him. He watched as she eyed his hand as if it was some weapon. Perhaps he should have attempted to breach the gulf after all, since she seemed to have to shake herself into action—as he'd had to earlier. Her hand was cold as ice when she finally placed it in his and he felt himself shiver in response as they made their way towards the dance floor, amidst various cheers and toasts from the still sober enough to do so guests.

He was reminded once more that she'd dreaded this marriage near as much as he, and that she was as much a victim of his oath as he was. He could not bring himself to hate her, even if she was the one who was inadvertently keeping him from Talisa. If anything, the knowledge that she was also disinclined towards the marriage made his heart soften towards her, as if he had a comrade in arms against a common foe. Perhaps, again in time, he could share this fact with her in hopes of earning her friendship and one of her half smiles of amusement he'd seen her flash on occasion—usually to others, not himself, or in response to something he'd said that was ridiculous in her opinion no doubt.

The band struck a lively yet regal tune once they were standing in the middle of the dancers. Where there had before been improvisation in movements, the other couples now situated themselves into proper formations to follow through with the courtly dance that was to come. Robb remembered this dance well, it was Sansa's favorite, though he couldn't remember if it was the hand holding that she'd liked the most or if it was the moment when the male partner had to put his hands on the female's waist and hoist her upwards for a turn. Arya had always squealed when he'd picked her up and twirled her, and then they'd end up in a tussle and the dance would never be completed. The thought of his sisters was both heart-warming and sobering, it reminded him of the greater reasons for his sacrifice—he must win the war and regain his sisters' freedom. From the somber look on his partner's face he knew there would be no laughter with this dance for her either.

"How have the festivities been, your grace?" His wife spoke after the first few weaves and turns amongst the other couples had been completed and they were facing each other once more, their hands clasped as they twirled together.

Robb couldn't stop the cynical smirk from reaching his face, "Now, do you really wish to speak to me about the festivities?" He reached down and placed his hands on her waist in order to lift her up for the next move, only momentarily taken aback when instead of softness he felt the firmness of muscle beneath her dress. Perhaps the armor she'd worn to meet him days before had not just been for show; perhaps she truly did have fighting capabilities. He spoke again once he placed her back on her feet. "Or is there something else you wish to discuss with me?"

She moved away for a moment, shifting between another couple as the dance required, before returning and taking up his hands again. "I am merely attempting to make polite conversation your grace. It would not do for us to be seen eating and dancing in resigned silence on our wedding day."

Robb smirked again. While this was true, he could not help but think that there was some sort of ulterior motive for her "polite conversation" maneuver. He waited until it came time for him to hoist her up again before he replied.

"I would ask that there be no 'games' between us." He placed his hands on her waist but hesitated in lifting her until she raised her eyes from where they'd been focused on his chest to meet his own. "Neither one of us wanted this union but that does not mean we should worsen the situation by acting coy with one another." He lifted her then and spun as he should before returning her to the ground and shifting away between another couple.

When he returned she was ready with a reply on her own, "I will abide by these conditions so long as you do as well." Her gaze was as direct as her words and Robb felt his stomach tighten as if in response to a blow.

"I would not suggest it only to ignore it myself." He felt a bit insulted that she would think he would do something of the kind; and yet, his mind painfully reminded him, he'd very nearly negated on his word before, and towards her family, so she had every reason to doubt the quality of his word. From her facial expression, it seemed that she too was aware of this, though to her credit she did not verbally seek to remind him.

The music began to draw to a close and it was then that he saw a look upon his wife's face that he'd not seen before in the brief time he'd known her. It was akin to panic, if not fear, and he immediately looked around for any sign of threat—to see a woman who'd thus far proven quite competent mentally and, from the looks of it, could be equally capable physically to fend for herself look like that had him tensing as well. He saw no sign of a threat however and so when they drew together for the last strains of the music he questioned her.

"What is it that has you so afraid?"

Her eyes were wide and she looked shocked by his question but managed to whisper to him, "Please don't allow the bedding ceremony."

Robb drew back from her whisper as if she'd struck him, the reminder of what was intended to come like an assault on his mind. He clenched his teeth together and gave a curt nod to her before he led her back towards their seats. They'd barely made it back before Lord Frey drunkenly began to stand, no doubt to demand the aforementioned unwanted ceremony. Robb felt his wife's hand tighten on his arm where he'd placed it and again he was surprised at how unnerved she seemed by the idea of the bedding ceremony. He too held no great love for the old tradition, and had not relished the thought of sharing it with her and not Talisa. But he wasn't about to knock his knees together over it. Surely she'd had to go through it with her previous husband—perhaps that was the reason for her fear?

Robb raised his hand for silence before Lord Frey had even managed to sit up straight, let alone stand. The room quickly quieted for him to speak.

"To my new family and friends, I thank you for your hospitality and for the jovial feast which we could share on such a joyous occasion as this." There was some clapping and even a few whistles and so Robb held up his hand again for silence. "As it has been a long day, my wife and I will now retire; please do not end your festivities on our account, there be no need for an escort." The room fell silent, either in shock at his curt response or in the break of tradition; though he had not given an order, the room reacted to his words as if he had.

Before anyone could dare to argue, Robb turned and gestured for his wife to precede him out the door towards the stairs. She all but ran in front of him, and he had to lengthen his stride to keep up with her. She truly was frightened and it was strange to see her act thusly, given she'd stood up to him almost from the moment they'd met. Once he caught up to her, they walked down the near dark corridor in silence, aside from the echoing of their footsteps and the distant sounds of revelry starting up again, there was nothing else.

"Thank you, your grace." The assured tone of voice he'd quickly grown accustomed to hearing from her had returned, now that they'd avoided the ceremony.

He paused at the foot of the stairs that would lead to their chamber and turned towards her, "Now that we are wed perhaps it is time we call each other by name. The formalities of titles grow exhausting after awhile."

In the low light he saw her lips quirk upwards in a half-smile, "I agree your, er, Robb."

"Well then," Robb smiled before glancing upwards towards the general direction of where their marriage bed would lay, "I must go check on Grey Wind. I trust that you can find your way on your own?" He mentally cringed; this was her old home, of course she could find her way.

If she found his question odd she did not show it; instead her responding expression was a mixture of what he could only guess to be relief and resignation. She gave him silent nod though, before turning and heading up the stairs. It was true that he needed to check on Grey Wind, who very much did not like being cooped up in the cage Lord Frey had politely insisted he keep him in, but it was also true that he wanted to give both his wife and himself some time before the inevitable occurred.

His wife Sascha. He supposed he should start to think of her by her name if he was to call her by it as well. While he had earlier hoped to eventually approach her with esteem and affection, he found himself fighting the desire to mount his horse and ride away with Grey Wind and Talisa. He could no longer give in to such selfish desires. He now had to think for his family, his kingdom, and his wife—as unwanted as she was.

Grey Wind offered no advice when he found him kenneled near the front gates. The dire wolf instead seemed to want to complain to Robb about his situation as much as Robb wanted to complain of his own. The creature was restless and nearly knocked Robb over a time or two in his pacing. After Robb ensured that he had food and water, and scratched behind his ears for a time, Grey Wind settled down as if resigned to his fate. They had that in common it appeared.

Robb lingered for longer than was necessary and eventually Grey Wind grew impatient with him—if he wasn't there to set him free than why should he be there—and wandered to the far end of the kennel and lay down with his back to him. Robb snorted. He, no doubt, would receive such treatment elsewhere before the night was over.

On his way back towards the keep he glanced through the open gates and saw the encampment of his men in the fields outside. He paused in his steps and allowed a fresh wave of regret to wash over him. He'd done this to himself and he'd done this to Talisa. He was not ignorant of the fault that lay at his feet for his current pain—and for the pain that Talisa was likely going through as well. If he had not been so impulsive, if he had taken better precautions, if…if…if…then he would still be married but not with this weight of guilt hanging around his neck. He would be able to enter his marriage chambers with confidence instead of with foreboding, as he did some time later once he mustered up the courage to face his new wife.

At first he did not see her in the chamber. The bed was still made and there was no evidence of her ever having touched it. Robb closed the door behind him and moved further into the room. A great fire burned from the hearth to his right and over in the far left corner he spied another source of light, though much slighter, with the large bed and its draperies between him and whatever it was. He moved towards the light and looked around the corner of the bed to see that his wife sat at a desk in the corner, two candles burning on either side of her.

She was working furiously on something, though from his position he could not quite see what it was, and did not seem to be aware of his presence. As he came closer he saw that she was drawing on parchment. Even from this distance he could tell that it was no idle sketch, and from the layers of parchment paper beneath the one she was currently working with, it appeared that she had many other drawings of a similar nature. Spread on the desk around the parchment were tools he'd seen maester's use when teaching mathematics or designing buildings. He'd never seen a woman use them before and it appeared that not only did his wife use them, but that she knew how to use them accurately.

It was only once he was directly behind her, with her still working, that he realized that she was drawing the schematics of some sort of oval device. There appeared to be calculations and computations on the edges of the parchment and angles drawn this way and that across the device itself, as if to signify the direction the device would travel. It was most odd but the design was basic enough for him to understand that somehow the device would spin in a circle as a form of movement, but how it was propelled forward or backward he could still not discern. Before he could stop himself, he reached over her shoulder and pointed to an area of the device that had him puzzled.

"What is this area for?"

Her hands stilled and she leaned back in her chair. He looked away from the drawing just long enough to make eye contact with her. From the placid nature of her expression she didn't seem disturbed by his presence, or startled for that matter. Perhaps she had heard him enter the room but had chosen to ignore him. He took note of the fact that she was dressed in her night clothes already, with a thick blanket drawn around her shoulders for warmth.

That brief reminder of what they were supposed to be engaged in that this time had him shifting as if to move away but she drew his gaze back to the drawing when she pointed to the area he had indicated, "That is the porthole where a light cannon may be placed for firing from inside the protective covering." Her tone of voice was matter-of-fact and he detected no hints of timidity; it seemed that she felt more comfortable talking of these drawings than she did talking of their marriage.

"What is a 'light cannon'?" Robb frowned, understanding that whatever it was she was talking about was a weapon but having never heard of it before didn't quite know what to picture in his mind. He leaned closer to study the picture more carefully. Half of him was aware of how close he was to her in his study, how she had to lean back to her out of his way, how he could feel the warmth of her body close to his neck and face, but the other half of him didn't seem to care, he was too interested in what he was looking at.

Sascha moved the top parchment away, causing him to straighten up and shift away, and shuffled through the underlying ones until she pulled out another one. This one had various designs of one simple object. The recurring image was of a long, thin circular barrel sitting atop a platform attached to wheels, almost like modified cart. It looked easy enough to move and from the notations he saw scribbled here and there he noted that the barrel was to be made of metal. She handed it to him, quickly drawing her hand away when it accidentally brushed his as she did so.

"This is a light cannon. Only one has been made; the late King Renly commissioned it to be made and to see a demonstration; if he liked what he saw then he would've commissioned more." She glanced up at him briefly before she sighed and shook her head. "He was killed shortly after the demonstration and in the chaos that occurred after that I'm not sure what happened to the cannon that was made." She shrugged and took the parchment from him long enough to flip it over and pointed out the mechanics of the interior of the "cannon." "By lighting the fuse here, the fire will travel through the vent inside the chamber to ignite the blackpowder here, which will force the cannonball through the bore and will project it out here in whichever direction the user wants to attack."

Robb brought the parchment closer to read through the process she'd indicated. "What is blackpowder?" He'd heard of wildfire before, but never blackpowder; perhaps it too was of her design as the rest seemed to be.

"It is a combination of three different elements that, on their own, cause no harm but when mixed together can create explosive and destructive power. Once the elements are mixed together and further mixed with a stabilizing and malleable substance, it can be packed into any shape and into near anything desired before being ignited. I've put this to the test with hand-held weapons and with projectile weapons; both seem to be of equal effectiveness depending upon the accuracy of the user. I have the recipe locked away," Sascha gestured over her shoulder and he followed the gesture to see a medium sized chest lying at the foot of the bed, "but I haven't allowed many beyond my own men who assist me in the demonstrations to see it. It is what makes the light cannon possible and perhaps could be what makes this weaponized cart possible as well." She pulled out the parchment she'd been working on when he first came in and pointed to it with a frown on her face.

He stood straight again and looked down at her as if he'd just met her, "You designed all these things?"

When she looked back to him he saw resignation, near fatigue, in her gaze. "Yes." Her tone of voice indicated to him that she had by now grown used to reactions such as his: incredulity. "That bridge you married me for," she jerked her head to the side as if to point to it with her chin and not her hands, "I modified that as well to allow it to move faster and to more efficiently moderate the water flow for use in our fields."

Robb frowned at the implications her words held and broke eye contact in order to look at her drawings again. While the drawings, and the fact that his wife appeared to be a very talented inventor, had momentarily distracted him, it appeared that they had circled back to the harsh reality of their current state. The treaty between her father and himself was all that had brought them together and it was all he had seen as worthwhile from her—or at least he could only assume that was how she viewed it, and if he was honest, there was some truth in that assumption.

"How many other such devices have you designed and tested?" he decided to overlook her implications and instead bring them back to the neutral territory of her designs.

This seemed to put her at ease and the confident tone of voice reappeared as she stood up and moved towards the chest she'd earlier indicated. "I've made models of all of them, though when I came back here I had to destroy most of them, and only a few have been made to full-scale, but all my designs are here." Without any further prompting she pulled out dozens of parchments, including the recipe for the powder she'd spoken of.

Some of the inventions were so simple it made him want to smack himself for not having thought of them himself and others were of such complexity that he wondered if they could ever be successfully implemented into everyday life at this time. The inventions were not all of military design, some could be applicable for farmers, others for bakers, and at least one looked as if it could assist a maester when he sought to heal the wounded.

It was only when her speech pattern slowed and her movements did as well that Robb became aware of the passing of time. They had been discussing these inventions for at least a few hours, if the change in the lighting outside the window covering was any indication, and he found himself surprised at how easy it had been to pass the time thusly. Sascha had thoroughly and animatedly explained the mechanisms of the devices to him and he'd questioned her further on where she'd find the materials or how she planned on using them. There had been no awkwardness between them as they'd sat on the bed, side by side, the parchments spread beside and behind them. They'd been able to speak together as near equals without any sort of barrier or hindrance and he'd felt a sort of camaraderie develop between them during their discourse—he hoped for the sake of their marriage that it hadn't been a one-sided feeling.

Now however it seemed that the unavoidable could no longer be avoided. They had to retire. Robb couldn't tell if her sluggish movements now were out of fatigue or a further way of stalling the inevitable. He helped her gather together the parchments and let her lock them away on her own while he moved to the far side of the room to divest himself of cloak, boots, and outer clothes. He didn't think he had it in him to go through with the full expectations of a wedding night, not at this time, not after their first tentative steps at becoming at least a little friendly towards each other—and not so soon after Talisa.

Robb stopped short on his way back towards the bed. It surprised him to now realize that the entirety of the time he'd been speaking with Sascha about her inventions he'd not once thought of Talisa or bemoaned her absence by his side. He'd been so caught up in Sascha's enthusiastic explanations, and by the practical implications these inventions held for his cause if they could be made and used by his forces, that he hadn't stopped to think about what else Sascha was to him, beyond the possible supplier of an entirely new form of fighting.

His thoughts now straying to Talisa, and idly wondering how she was wherever she was outside, Robb moved forward until he reached the side of the bed. He found Sascha already within it, curled on her side, her back towards him, breathing deeply as if already asleep. After the initial surprise wore off Robb smiled, finding the situation for once relatively amusing. They'd just spent the majority of their wedding night discussing weapons and now they were to sleep together as husband as wife and truly sleep. Not at all what had been expected of them for this evening but as Robb settled into bed, well away from his wife's softly snoring form, he found himself satisfied with how it had turned out.

* * *

><p><span>How-to Guide for a Wedding and Night: Sascha<span>

Her sisters had been absolutely no help leading up to the wedding. While the majority of the young ones had waxed eloquent about the delights of marrying a king, and such a handsome one at that, a few of the older ones had expressed barely restrained loathing that she was to marry AGAIN while they remained unmarried and with few prospects. Sascha had been surprised to leave her chambers without a few scratches on her skin or tears in her dress as the comments had grown increasingly less subtle as the time for the ceremony had drawn near.

She'd wanted some time to herself prior to the wedding but there'd been no opportunity. She'd been whisked from her chambers crammed full of sisters to an equally crowded room full of her brothers all there to wish her well, or to remind her to remember them once she was situated as queen. From there the whole lot of them had led a rather large procession to the sept where the king's men and mother had already gathered.

Sascha had not had the opportunity to speak to the woman alone and had had little indication from the woman herself how she felt about these turn of events. The last she'd seen of Lady Stark had been in the king's war tent and now they stood facing each other in the sept, separated by the aisle she was to walk down with her father. How strange it must be for her, to watch her eldest son marry a widow, all in hopes of securing a bridge and a treaty in order to win a war. Far from the hopes she'd most likely pinned on the man whilst he'd been a boy no doubt.

She'd barely been able to see clearly through the veil over her face as her father had led her down the aisle. She'd been glad of the nuisance of the veil, and the itch it had caused against her skin; it had been so distracting to her that she had not the ability to think overly long about who it was she was walking to or what it was she was about to do. If she had had the freedom of senses to think about it then she would've most likely stumbled on her own feet in her efforts to run from the room.

Sascha knew this desire was foolish and childish—and was most likely harbored by her husband-to-be, a man she'd already accused of being both childish and foolish. If she could not only survive one marriage but also grow to appreciate the man to whom she'd been married, and had also been able to glean from the marriage many positives despite the apparent negatives, then she could do so again. She would not buckle to her impulses to hide away and would instead present herself to her future husband as a capable woman, hopefully worthy to be called Queen of the North. Perhaps in time they would be able to overlook the unfortunate circumstances surrounding their union and instead harbor affection for each other.

This hope only grew when they'd accidentally hit their foreheads together during the cloaking ceremony. Despite the pain, and the urge to rub it away, Sascha had remained still and had allowed the king to finish cloaking her. While he did so she remembered her septa once telling her that all good relationships start with a bump on the head, or relationships could only grow to be good ones after a bump on the head. To have this happen during their wedding ceremony only served as fodder to her hope that eventually they could grow to esteem one another highly.

When he'd made eye contact with her though, she felt the fire of hope dwindle, when he almost immediately broke the contact and instead turned to face the rest of the chamber. Sascha had swallowed her disappointment, an occurrence she felt she should get used to immediately, and had followed her husband's leading into the great hall where the makings of a feast were already laid out. Almost at once her father made a lengthy speech about the delights of having a son-in-law who did not break oaths and was a man of his word—and Sascha was not deaf to the not so subtle innuendos to the contrary lacing the old man's words. From the way her husband had clenched his jaw while listening, it appeared that he too was not deaf to them either. He'd been required to make a separate speech, thanking her father and family, and officially introducing his mother and a few of his men. There'd been clapping, some feigned and some already drunken, and then they all had set to feasting.

As the feast wore on, and both she and her husband dutifully thanked well-wishers, she noticed that he did not partake of near as much ale and wine as she'd expected him to. Perhaps he did not want to risk inebriation on their wedding night—if that were true then she was immensely grateful for his thoughtfulness. But then, her mind chided her, it was not for her sake that he refrained. Most likely he did not want his wine-addled thoughts to dwell overly long on the woman he'd rather be by his side at this time. Sascha had downed the contents of her glass in one gulp at that reminder, not even wincing at the pain it caused in her throat as it burned its way down to her stomach.

Her husband engaged in conversation with one of his bannermen, she turned towards her husband's mother and gave her a small smile, "I hope that the journey here was not overly taxing."

Lady Stark appeared to be as good an actress as she was trying to be and showed not one ounce of pity or scorn when she turned her attention towards her and away from the dancers that had begun to clear the middle of the room of tables. "The countryside here reminds me of my youth and I found the journey most invigorating in truth, so many fond memories keeping me company." The woman's smile grew shuttered then, slightly less warm, and Sascha felt the muscles in her neck tighten in response. "It may be difficult for you to move from such lush beauty to the wilds of the north. While I now find my home in the north to be of great magnificence, I confess that the first months at Winterfell were not easy for me. At first I pinned for home but then my husband made every effort to see me settled and in time I grew as fond of Winterfell as I did of my husband."

The implication that Sascha and her own husband may or may not end up like Lord and Lady Stark had fell like ice between them and both women paused long enough to take a sip of the contents of their glasses—Sascha's having been refilled. When Lady Stark spoke again it was her inquiring after her sisters and their futures and they passed the time trading stories about siblings and the difficulties thereof.

When one of the king's other bannermen required Lady Stark's attention Sascha was once more left to her own devices. The feast had lasted near two hours now and while neither she nor her husband had neglected their duties in thanking well-wishers or responding to the numerous toasts made in their honor, neither she nor her husband had spoken directly to each other. Aside from the vows they'd exchanged, he had to yet to say anything to her—though she hadn't made any great effort to talk to him either. They'd yet to even really look at one another.

Sascha chewed on her lower lip as she thought. He was the one suffering from a broken heart—she'd only really grown to have an affectionate form of love for her husband just prior to his death and had never known the sort of passion her husband must've felt towards his lover if he'd been so close to breaking his oath. He was the only who would now and forever be separated from the one he would've chosen to marry had he the chance—she had not been inclined towards marriage prior to this arrangement and felt not the disappointment he must now feel. It was no wonder that he sat brooding in silence now, most likely unaware of how to speak to her while he felt such disinclination towards her at the same time. The hope she'd felt earlier remained and it was that hope that had her breaking the silence first.

"Your grace." She felt more than saw him stiffen as if in surprise when she spoke. She saw out of the corner of her eyes as he turned towards her but she kept her eyes on the dancers. "Would it not be negligent of us to remain seated at our own wedding feast whilst our guests continue to dance in hopes of enticing us to join them?"

He was silent for some time and from this silence Sascha surmised that he'd either forgotten about the tradition held at the Twins or else he was mustering up the energy to feign interest in maintaining tradition in the line of duty. Eventually she felt him shift his body weight and push away from the table.

"You're right." He spoke once he was on his feet, extending his hand downwards towards her. "We have been remiss in our duties."

She finally looked away from the dancers and made eye contact with him. His face was devoid of any indication of pain, but also of delight, and because of this she found herself looking at his hand—wondering if he'd rather hit her with it than hold her. She shook herself to get such morbid thoughts out of focus and placed her hand in his. No doubt he felt how cold it was—and indeed she thought she felt a responding shiver from him by her side—but she hadn't been able to warm her hands since that morning. It was a side effect of her nerves, as this only ever happened whenever she felt she couldn't control something. She hoped that this wouldn't be common between them, her hands cold as death and he shivering at having to touch her.

The band struck a lively yet regal tune once they were standing in the middle of the dancers. Where there had before been improvisation in movements, the other couples now situated themselves into proper formations to follow through with the courtly dance that was to come. Sascha forced a polite smile on her face, in spite of the memory that this was the last dance she'd shared with her husband prior to his death—how fitting that it would be the first she shared with her husband now. From the somber, distant look on her husband's face, it appeared that his memories were less than pleasant as well. In an effort to distract themselves from anything other than the present, Sascha again broke the silence between them.

"How have the festivities been, your grace?" She spoke after the first few weaves and turns amongst the other couples had been completed and they were facing each other once more, their hands clasped as they twirled together.

She watched as after a moment of surprise a cynical smirk spread across his face, "Now, do you really wish to speak to me about the festivities?" He reached down and placed his hands on her waist in order to lift her up for the next move. Thanks in part to her father, she'd always found touch difficult to handle unless she controlled it and this move was no different. She felt herself tense in response to his touch and it seemed that for a moment he hesitated in following through with the motion the dance required. However, duty an ever presence companion, Sascha forcibly relaxed in his hands and he lifted her and spun as he was supposed to. He spoke again once he placed her back on her feet. "Or is there something else you wish to discuss with me?"

She moved away for a moment, shifting between another couple as the dance required, before returning and taking up his hands again. "I am merely attempting to make polite conversation your grace. It would not do for us to be seen eating and dancing in resigned silence on our wedding day."

He smirked again and waited until it came time for him to hoist her up again before he replied. "I would ask that there be no 'games' between us." He placed his hands on her waist but hesitated in lifting her until she raised her eyes from where they'd been focused on his chest to meet his own. "Neither one of us wanted this union but that does not mean we should worsen the situation by acting coy with one another." He lifted her then and spun as he should before returning her to the ground and shifting away between another couple.

When he returned she was ready with a reply on her own, "I will abide by these conditions so long as you do as well." Her gaze was as direct as her words and she hoped that he felt her sincerity.

"I would not suggest it only to ignore it myself." His voice was gruff, almost defensive, when he replied and because of that she was reminded that they were only having this conversation because of his indiscretions as well as because of her representation of a bridge and a treaty that he'd wanted. She hoped the disappointment didn't come through in her expression before she managed to break eye contact, but she feared it had.

The music began to draw to a close and it was then that she remembered another tradition upheld at the Twins: the bedding ceremony. Flashes of sensations welled up like hotspots across her body as memories of her youth battled against reason inside her head. Her body screamed at her to run away while her mind demanded that she stay by her husband's side.

"What is it that has you so afraid?"His question was whispered near her ear and she realized, with equal amounts of horror and relief, that he'd seen her fear and was responding not in anger or mockery but with what seemed to be genuine concern.

Latching onto the hope that he was indeed concerned after her wellbeing she whispered back, "Please don't allow the bedding ceremony."

He drew back suddenly, as if her words had struck a blow against him. She saw the muscles of his jaw tighten and he gave a curt nod to her before he led her back towards their seats. They'd barely made it back before the source of her panic, her father, drunkenly began to stand, no doubt to demand the ceremony. Sascha's hand tightened on her husband's arm, even though she kept telling her body to relax. She would have to trust him now, believe that he would abide by her imploration.

He raised his hand for silence before her father had even managed to sit up straight, let alone stand. The room quickly quieted for him to speak.

"To my new family and friends, I thank you for your hospitality and for the jovial feast which we could share on such a joyous occasion as this." There was some clapping and even a few whistles and so he held up his hand again for silence. "As it has been a long day, my wife and I will now retire; please do not end your festivities on our account, there will be no escort." The room fell silent, either in shock at his curt response or in the break of tradition; though he had not given an order, the room reacted to his words as if he had.

Before anyone could dare to argue, he turned and gestured for her to precede him out the door towards the stairs. All the energy she'd barely held in check, born out of panic, exploded in her body and Sascha all but ran in front of him. She didn't pause by the door to see if he followed, though she heard him come up beside her before she saw him. There would be no ceremony and she had him to thank for it. The hope she had earlier was now coupled with gratitude, and surely those two things would work together to make the rest of this evening bearable.

"Thank you, your grace." Now that the fear had abated, her body relaxed away from the desire to flee or fight.

He paused at the foot of the stairs that would lead to their chamber and turned towards her, "Now that we are wed perhaps it is time we call each other by name. The formalities of titles grow exhausting after awhile."

He sounded exhausted, though from the formality sitting between them or the situation altogether she couldn't tell, and she fought a smile at the near child-like fatigue she saw in his expression accompanying his words. "I agree your, er, Robb."

"Well then," He offered her a half smile before glancing upwards in the general direction of where their marriage bed would lay. The smile fell quickly and he shifted on his feet, "I must go check on Grey Wind. I trust that you can find your way on your own?"

From the sudden way in which he broke eye contact and again shifted on his feet she gleaned that he was seeking a way to stall what it was they were both expected to follow through with this evening. She gave him silent nod, before turning and heading up the stairs. She was just as desirous of avoiding the marriage bed as he—though she didn't want to indicate that aloud to him by thanking him for his stalling; that would only make matters more awkward.

Upon first getting to their room Sascha quickly undressed and changed into her night clothes, not wanting to be caught half-way between the two by Robb's untimely arrival. When he still did not arrive, even after she'd packed away her clothes and pulled out the clothes she would wear the next day—the majority of her things were still in trunks as she'd not had the time to unpack everything before she'd rushed off to meet Robb, and her father had not hid his dislike of her return as well—she lit two candles and moved to the corner where her old desk still sat. She lovingly ran her fingers over the worn surface, lamenting the fact that she would have to part with it yet again. She'd created over a dozen different inventions using this desk and sitting before it now felt like coming back to an old friend.

When Robb still had yet to return after she'd sat idle before her desk for what she felt to be quite some time, she moved to the medium sized chest at the foot of her bed and unlocked it, using the key she kept on a chair around her neck. She withdrew the parchment containing the sketches of her latest invention she'd been working on and placed it, and the related sketches, upon the desk. Within moments of sitting down in front of the parchment, pen in hand and tools spread out on the desk around it, she was lost. The earlier ponderings about the mobility of the weaponized cart came back and she quickly sketched out the basics of the exterior, using the measuring rod as a guide in regards to correcting her angles.

Any reservations or nervousness about the return her husband were lost, retreating in favor of a circular, covered weapon, capable of carrying five men, that if all worked out correctly would spin in a circle, guided by ballast shifting, with cannons facing outwards. She'd gotten the idea after watching one of her little sisters play with a simple toy while listening to one of her men complain about heavy losses against the Lannisters in the latest fight—the Starks had one just barely.

Sascha began to chew on her lower lip—bad habit she had yet to break since it seemed to help her think so well—as she worked. She vaguely thought she heard the door to the chamber open and close but didn't bother to look over her shoulder; she was in the middle of a computation involving just how much ballast she would need to shift from astern to ahead in order to offset the weight of the five men if the cart encountered an incline.

It was only when a hand appeared from over her shoulder and a finger pointed to the porthole for the cannon that her earlier guess was proven correct. Robb had returned.

"What is this area for?" He sounded interested and confused at the same time.

She laid down the pen and leaned back in her chair in order to look at him, wondering if he was indeed curious of if he was biding his time before they would have to...she purposefully set aside that thought and instead continued to work on the computation in her head in spite of his interruption. He glanced down at her from where he'd been studying the parchment and she saw his eyes widen slightly when he took in the fact that she was already in her night clothes and his body stiffened as if he was about to move away. If he moved away then he would remember why it was he returned and they would have to follow through with the expectations of the wedding night. Sascha cleared her throat and pointed to the porthole that he'd indicated.

"That is the porthole where a light cannon may be placed for firing from inside the protective covering." As long as she focused on explaining the mechanics of her inventions she need not worry about sounding as nervous as she felt. Her late husband had always teased her about sounding too assured and confident when it came to explaining her inventions, telling her it was if another woman inhabited her body for a spell just to speak out enthusiastically about the oddities she created.

"What is a 'light cannon'?" Robb drew her attention back to the present and she watched him frown as if in confusion. Before she explain he suddenly leaned closer to study her drawing, his body so close she felt she could smell the direwolf upon his clothes and feel the chill of the night air still upon his body. A part of her that had been dormant ever since her husband's death began to awaken, stretching its arms into her senses and reminding her of how comforting it could be to lie in the arms of a man. The rest of her, thankfully the majority, reminded her that she was not the woman he wanted in his arms.

Sascha suddenly moved the top parchment away, glad when Robb stood upright in response, and shuffled through the underlying ones until she pulled out another one. It was the original design of the light cannon, along with some basic sketches of her later designs after initial testing. She handed the parchment to him, drawing her hand back quickly when it accidentally brushed against his.

"This is a light cannon. Only one has been made; the late King Renly commissioned it to be made and to see a demonstration; if he liked what he saw then he would've commissioned more." The memory of the thrill his approval had sent through her, the light of pride in her own husband's eyes as well, was near bitter in her mind now, sitting here with Robb as she was. "He was killed shortly after the demonstration and in the chaos that occurred after that I'm not sure what happened to the cannon that was made." Sascha dearly wished to know what had become of her invention—it was if she'd lost a child. After a moment of further lament, she shrugged and took the parchment from him long enough to flip it over and began to point out the mechanics of the interior. "By lighting the fuse here, the fire will travel through the vent inside the chamber to ignite the blackpowder here, which will force the cannonball through the bore and will project it out here in whichever direction the user wants to attack."

She watched as his lips moved into that concentrated frown again and she realized that just as she chewed on her lip when she thought it appeared that Robb frowned when he did—a good thing to take note of now since she had the feeling she would make him frown a lot in their marriage. "What is blackpowder?" He asked a few moments later.

Sascha wondered then, if she should be so open with her inventions and talents with him. Yes he was her husband, and based on his earlier beliefs about marriage he had a right to all that was hers—and based off of her beliefs about marriage she had equal rights to all that was his. If she tried to keep these things from him he could fight her, though she doubted he would, but if she opened up to him now it could serve as a bridge over which they could both cross in order to meet in the middle of the chasm between them. It could be a road over which they could travel towards friendship—and that was truly all that she wanted from him at this time. She did not expect love, affection, or devotion. A kind word here and there, a mutual and genuine respect, and no more loathing of being in each other's presence, that was what she wanted. If by sharing this side of herself to him, even so early on in their marriage, could aid that process, then it was a risk worth taking—and in reality she had little to lose.

"It is a combination of three different elements that, on their own, cause no harm but when mixed together can create explosive and destructive power. Once the elements are mixed together and further mixed with a stabilizing and malleable substance, it can be packed into any shape and into near anything desired before being ignited. I've put this to the test with hand-held weapons and with projectile weapons; both seem to be of equal effectiveness depending upon the accuracy of the user. I have the recipe locked away," Sascha gestured over her shoulder to her chest at the foot of the bed, "but I haven't allowed many beyond my own men who assist me in the demonstrations to see it. It is what makes the light cannon possible and perhaps could be what makes this weaponized cart possible as well." She pulled out the parchment she'd been working on when he first came in and pointed to it with a frown on her face, the earlier unfinished computation coming back to haunt her.

He stood straight again and she heard the disbelief in his voice even before she looked up to see it on his face when he spoke again, "You designed all these things?"

Only her husband, out of all the men in her life, had not spoken to her in such a tone of voice when confronted with this side of her. He had been intrigued yes, charmed even, but had immediately set about trying to find ways in which she could perfect her skills and she'd fallen in love with him because of that—no judgment, only support and delight. Yes, in retrospect, Sascha realized that she had loved her husband, just not in the traditional sense.

"Yes." She made sure he understood from her own tone of voice that she found his disbelief insulting. As if to nail in that sentiment more strongly she quickly added, "That bridge you married me for," she jerked her head to the side, "I modified that as well to allow it to move faster and to more efficiently moderate the water flow for use in our fields." She watched the disbelief in his eyes change, his eyes hardening in what looked to be the beginnings of anger but then he broke eye contact before she could detect anything further. She wondered if he'd call her out on her audacious, and rude, response—and on their wedding night of all times!

But after a few moments of him busying himself with studying her drawings, the majority of them upside down or sideways, he spoke again and surprised her, "How many other such devices have you designed and tested?"

He hadn't gotten angry, he hadn't demanded she apologize. Instead, by his question, it appeared that he was inclined towards creating a bridge between them as she was—in spite of her momentary bridge destroying comment. She gave him a half smile before she stood and moved towards the chest where she kept her other drawings. "I've made models of all of them, though when I came back here I had to destroy most of them, and only a few have been made to full-scale, but all my designs are here." Without any further prompting she pulled out dozens of parchments, including the recipe for the blackpowder—again figuring he was to be by her side for life now, he should be privy to that as well.

Soon they were both lost to time and place as she explained the various designs. He did not ask questions that seemed to only humor her or placate her but from his tone of voice and the content of the questions themselves, it appeared that he was genuinely intrigued by her inventions. They did not quickly flip through the designs, as if he was in a rush to move on to the next portion of the evening—and thank goodness for that—but instead mulled over each drawing for quite some time. He even pointed out some of the flaws she had not earlier seen on a few and she'd made him hold the parchment while she'd stood, grabbed her pen, and jotted down his ideas in an unmarked corner of said design he'd critiqued.

As much as she enjoyed this, it seemed that the enjoyment itself loosened the tension from her body and it was then that her body reminded her that she hadn't slept well for quite a number of days. Sascha thought she hid her fatigue well but it wasn't long after the initial wave of tiredness set in that Robb suggested they retire and ruminate over the rest of her designs some other time. He helped her gather together the parchments and let her lock them away on her own while he moved to the far side of the room to divest himself of cloak, boots, and outer clothes.

Sascha's mind wanted to alert her body to the possible onslaught that would soon set it upon Robb's return to the bed, but her body rebelled and instead when she pulled the blankets of the bed up to her chin her entire body relaxed and her breathing deepened as if in sleep almost immediately. She was still half awake when she felt Robb move into the bed as well, and again her mind tried to warn her body to prepare itself. But this time it was Robb himself who defied her mind and instead of reaching for her as her mind had told her he would, she felt him shift around as if he were trying to get comfortable while also not touching her—not a difficult feat considering how large the bed was.

Sascha fell asleep smiling. While they had not at all lived up to the expectations and traditions this night called for, she did not regret how they had spent it—especially not since they now seemed to have a truly positive starting point from which they could build their marriage.


End file.
